Sleepwalkers
by Sabrina Fairchild
Summary: *Re-post. No new content.* "Then came that beautiful day/When our collided in great sparks/I can't hold my breath so long/Something evil in our hearts/You gave all you had to give/Pretty in black is all you were"
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A few months ago, it occurred to me that it would be pretty pointless to keep this story here-my muse was gone, and my outline and notes had died with my laptop. So I took it down. Then a dear reader messaged me about a different story. Although I still don't know whether I'll be able to finish either this story or the other one, I decided to repost them both*-this one mostly because it is longer than an average YA novel and I'm proud of myself for writing something so long and (as far as I can remember) kind of semi-decent.

Another, silly reason I am reposting this story is the hope that doing so will help me let go of something/someone that just doesn't seem meant to be.

*Please excuse the formatting; I'll try to at least get rid of the page numbers eventually.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Monster**

_She mumbled something while we got down on the floor. _

Blair spread her lips into a polite smile, one that had been instilled into her by her mother when she was barely more than a toddler. She averted her eyes from her companion to her glass and took a long sip of her vodka-infused martini. When she looked up again, she found Jeremy staring into the modest cleavage of her short-sleeved Milly dress. Instinctively, she placed a manicured hand on her chest. He caught the hint, much to her surprise.

"Your necklace is really beautiful, Blair," he almost yelled into her ear, in an attempt to out-loud the pop-chart song blaring through Axe Lounge. "I don't think I've seen it before."

She smiled her society smile again. "Thank you, Jeremy."

She had worn the simple platinum Tiffany necklace every day since she came to the Hamptons two weeks ago. It was an early back-to-school present from Daddy because, of course, he wouldn't be there when her junior year started. Jeremy, though he had been trying to be in her presence as much as possible, had failed to notice it. It was beyond her why he thought that telling her every disgusting detail of his year-and-a-half-old baby sister's day was perfectly acceptable, and asking her any questions about her was not important at all.

He slid a little closer to her on the leather angle sofa. She swiftly moved the other way, hitting her back on the sofa's arm in the process.

"You look incredible tonight, Blair." He moved closer again.

She let it slide. After all, she hadn't exactly been encouraging his rare attempts to talk about her summer, not even once. Besides, Jeremy – although a bit of a bore – was more than a suitable candidate to be the boyfriend of the new Queen of Constance in the fall. He looked like a life-sized Ken doll, with his sand-colored hair and gray eyes and those to-die-for abs; he was old money and he was well-accomplished enough at school and sports. So what if he was a teeny tiny bit on the short side and not the most interesting person in the world? He was fit to be her prince. So she didn't remove his sweaty hand from her knee when he put it there.

"Blair..."  
She more read her name on his lips than she heard it. She saw his face inching toward hers. Before

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she even had time to think, she was on her feet.

"I think I need another drink." She waved her still half-full glass, smiling her most seductive smile. Maybe he was great boyfriend material, but that didn't mean she was ready to kiss him just yet. She still distinctly remembered his cold fish lips on hers, from a game of Truth or Dare at a party last May.

Jeremy stood up, too. "I'll get you one. Or the hostess will."

"No, no," she said hurriedly, placing a hand on his shoulder to soothe him. "You just sit here. I'll be right back." She flashed him another smile before disappearing into a mass of dancing bodies, glad for the first time that this place was always crowded.

Just as she managed to get a barman's attention, having stabbed a bottle blonde model/bimbo in the foot with her five-inch Louboutin stiletto, someone's clammy hand grabbed her wrist. She spun around, ready to lash out, only to be faced with her beaming best friend.

"He's here, B!" Serena squealed over the annoying hip hop hit, equally annoyingly.

Blair rolled her eyes. There was absolutely no need to ask who "he" was. It was hardly a secret that Serena had spent the better part of her summer in the Hamptons obsessing over a boy. Yet, even if that was a fact, it still was beyond weird. Serena van der Woodsen didn't obsess over boys. They obsessed over her. And if Serena wanted a boy, she would get him within five minutes. However, it had been different with Nate Archibald. And certainly not because he didn't like Serena. Everybody in the Hamptons could see just how much the golden-haired Apollo was into her. No, there was another reason why the two of them were still dancing this dance which was growing tiresome to watch. And although Serena got evasive whenever the topic was brought up, Blair was certain she knew what that reason was – her friend was falling in love, for real, for the very first time.

"Oh, get a grip, S," she said, freeing her hand from the other girl's hold. "Just tell him how you feel already, so you two unfairly genetically blessed people can ride off into the sunset."

But Serena wasn't even listening to her. She was waving at Nate like a maniac. Blair had to roll her eyes again. There was no need for her best friend to behave in such an undignified manner. As if somebody could _not spot _Serena. Even in this sea of models, she stood out with her lush honey- colored waves cascading down her back and her flawless body wrapped into a Missoni dress which was a firework of colors and suddenly made Blair very conscious of her simple, loose-fitting ivory dress embellished only with a thin black bow belt. She straightened her ivory silk Jennifer Ouellette headband on her curled hair, fighting the green-eyed monster off. It wasn't Serena's fault she was incredibly gorgeous and she was closer to a Plain Jane than to a supermodel, she chanted in her head twice. Then she exhaled loudly and looked at Nate to distract herself.

Just as she had predicted, he had spotted Serena practically as soon as he set foot in the room. Now he was waving at her frantically and Blair rolled her eyes once more. She had never thought that the ex-Queen of Constance's boyfriend, the youngest captain of St. Jude's lacrosse team in the history of the school and – generally – one of the hottest and coolest guys on the Upper East Side could resemble an overzealous golden retriever that much. She watched him try to slalom his way through the crowd, avoiding bumping into people and snubbing the unabashed advances of buzzed dancing

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girls. In the end, looking somewhat sheepish, he started to follow some other guy, who was more or less shoving people aside. The way he beelined to the bar with an air of absolute entitlement, forcing everyone out of his way, was so outrageous, so utterly rude, that Blair even had fun watching. Of course, she would never behave like that herself – well, not that openly at least – but she silently approved of his way of handling that odd mixture of trust-fund babies and huddled masses in their best clothes.

"Hi!" Nate greeted them and Blair could swear that his smile was dazzling even in this semi-darkness. He was a picture perfect of a wholesome, all-American guy, in his dark corduroys and emerald shirt which matched his eyes perfectly.

Blair gave him a little wave, for which she promptly chided herself, and Serena wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his cheek so that their hair – bleached by the sun to the exactly same shade – was touching. Blair mumbled, "Unfairly genetically blessed." to herself, but had to smile a little nevertheless.

She caught the crowd-elbowing guy, who had obviously come with Nate, looking at her, but she could barely raise her eyebrows in a silent question before he smirked at her friend.

"Serena." He nodded.

Serena's upper lip twitched briefly, like it did whenever Headmistress Queller called her to her office or her supposedly bone-dry cappuccino had milk in it. Then she smiled her own society smile. "Chuck."

As the music got even louder, Blair quickly searched her brain for a Chuck, but couldn't remember anyone by that name who went to St. Jude's or Dalton.

The guy turned to her. She focused on his lips, to be sure to catch the name, and was momentarily sidetracked. Did the boy have some lips... They were full, perfectly shaped, slightly pouty... In a word, or three: most definitely inviting. For a flicker of a moment, she wondered what they felt like. Then the words "I'm Chuck Bass." and his outstretched hand registered in her brain and she rushed to shake his hand briefly, adding, "Blair Waldorf." She had been only a split second late, distracted by her stupid thoughts, but she knew he had noticed. She could tell by his smug smile, which she instantly wished to tear off his face.

She promptly turned her back to him, resolved to finally get her drink. She was in no luck, however, as the idiotic barman was trying to chat up some read-haired skank with twice her bra size. She looked up at a lit-up crystal chandelier in exasperation.

"B," Serena screamed into her ear again, "why don't you take Chuck to our table? I see everybody's there now. Nate and I will come in a minute."

She just nodded, having no real intention of having anything to do with this Chuck-person. She would just get her drink and go to the table. She could always claim she had lost him in the crowd if Serena or Nate asked. It wasn't as if he couldn't follow her if he was so desperate to sit with them. Now, if only the stupid barman would pay attention...

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"What are you drinking?" someone – _the _narcissist, she could tell by the voice – asked from a distance impolite even for a packed nightclub. She felt goose bumps on her arms. It must have been a wave of cold air coming from... somewhere.

She graced him with her bitchiest smile. "Vodka martini." Good luck getting one from this ass behind the bar.

In less than half a minute, she had a new drink in her hands. She headed straight to the table, but something possessed her, so she glanced over her shoulder to see if Chuck was following. He was, holding a glass of a scotch-looking drink and smirking. What the hell was it with him and the smirking? Was that smirk permanently etched onto his face?

She shook her head with a little more vehemence than intended. She would waste not a single thought more on that insignificant person. Sure, he might be related to Big Bad Bart, obviously, since his last name was Bass. And he was good-looking enough, nothing spectacular but just above her "potential boyfriend material acceptable hotness" bar. Also, he had a sense of fashion, with his beige slacks and pale yellow shirt with bright orange pinstripes. Well, he certainly at least had more fashion sense than his friend, she half-shrugged. However, he was rude. And not just rude in general. He had been rude to _her_. The way he had smirked when he noticed where her eyes were... And how vain he was! That was undeniable. His clothes and even his hair – which Blair suspected took a long time to arrange into that mussed, seemingly casual state – screamed "vain." In other words, he was not acceptable boyfriend material by any stretch of imagination.

On the other hand, she smiled to herself, he could be like a Kleenex – use once and throw away. Surely, Jeremy, whose eyes were devouring her as she approached the table, was fit to be her prince, but this Chuck Bass for some reason – not that any reason other than Jeremy's general uninterestingness was needed – seemed more intriguing than him and maybe could provide her with some fun before she went back to the city. The Hamptons were a place for fun, and she had had none since she arrived. Yes, she could use Chuck while they were in the Hamptons and use the opportunity to find out what his lips were like. Then she would go back home and become Jeremy's girlfriend. What happened in the Hamptons would stay in the Hamptons.

"Blair," Jeremy got up, "I was getting worried." He smiled, and she couldn't get over how un-sexy his smile was. His face was no less perfect than Nate's, yet his smile seemed like a Canal-Street knock-off of Nate's couture. Hell, even this Basstard's – she chuckled at her wit inwardly – smirk was sexier than Jeremy's smile. Well, truth be told, the Basstard's smirk was sexier than Nate's smile and...

'Enough!' she commanded herself, appalled at her treacherous brain which was coming up with such ridiculous thoughts. She shot Jeremy another one of her "seduction smiles." He smiled back, but then he addressed the scotch-drinking pain in the rear.

"Chuck, what are you doing here, man?"  
He seriously hugged him, and Blair reveled in the look of sheer horror on Bass's face.

He patted her would-be-boyfriend's back briefly, though, returning the gesture. "Jeremy," he nodded, taking a step back, "I forgot you were a hugger. Personally, I always found that pretty homoerotic, but

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to each his own."  
Jeremy only grinned lazily. "Chicks don't mind it."

Blair cringed. With a brief wave of her hand, she ordered Kati and Iz to split up and make room for her. She realized too late that wasn't the best of positions because it gave her a frontal view of the sofa occupied by two couples, one of which was none other than Whoregina Sparks and that creepy Yale dropout Carter. Who in their right mind would drop out of _Yale_?

Ew, she scrunched her nose up in disgust at the sight of Whoregina's tongue tracing the guy's lower lip. As if she wanted to watch them suck one another's face off all night! She perked up when Carter shoved Whoregina's black-clad form from his lap, and not only because that signified a break in their PDA.

"Bass," Carter said, "long time no see. Hope you enjoyed Switzerland." He grinned.

Blair used the chance to look at Chuck, perhaps – just perhaps – to toy with the idea of tracing his full lower lip with her tongue. However, she was taken aback when she saw something akin to anger cross his features. It disappeared in an instant, though, and she wasn't even sure it had been there in the first place.

"I'm sure you do, Baizen," Chuck drawled before sitting down on the arm of Blair's sofa, next to Kati.

Jeremy squeezed himself between Georgina and Carter and Penelope and her fugly flavor of the month, who soon disappeared in the general direction of the bathrooms.

"Chuck Bass," Georgina cooed, her heavily-lined eyes lighting up with that crazy spark which always made Blair's blood run a little colder, "I had no idea you were back."

"Good, because I had no intention of letting you know," he deadpanned.  
Blair did a little victory dance in her head upon seeing Whoregina's face fall and her eyes narrow.

The Queen of Darkness recovered admirably quickly, though. "I see that two years of boarding school did nothing for your social graces."

"And I see that the same two years did nothing for your clinginess," he shot back, and Georgina's hand fluttered away from Carter's neck briefly but her other hand didn't move away from his thigh.

As she watched Georgina play with Carter's hideous necklace, it struck Blair how similarly Chuck and Carter were dressed – they basically wore the same slacks and striped shirts with similar color schemes. Then again, many guys here were dressed in the same vein. And Carter's dark hair was perfectly combed, like Nate's.

She saw Georgina's lips move again, but didn't hear a thing because Iz glued herself to her, whispering, "OMG, is that _the Chuck Bass_? He looks delicious!" She was so close that her Marc Jacobs skirt, which was the same as Kati's, fell onto Blair's knee. "I remember he used to be on Gossip Girl all the time."

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"Yes, that's the Basstard," she said, removing Iz's skirt from her lap. "Personally, I don't find him attractive, but to each her own." She turned her attention to her drink, making it clear to her minion that the conversation was over.

A handful of moments later, she almost jumped up when Kati shrieked, "Don't move!"

Blair whirled to her right to see another one of her minions running her fingers along Chuck's collar. She smoothed the frown off her face as soon as she became aware of it.

"You've got a bright yellow smiley face right under your neck!"

Blair rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time that night. Why was it so hard to find minions which had some sense of decency? You know, the ones that wouldn't publicly drool over some insolent guy?

"Have you been to the Boardy Barn?" Kati asked, letting her hand linger on his chest. "I hear they hand out these smiley faces."

Blair scrunched her face up. Why would anyone with an ounce of class go there? Then again, this guy didn't necessarily have class just because he was a billionaire's son. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was that class couldn't be bought. You had to be born with it. And Blair was. She found that fact strangely invigorating as her eyes still rested on the nearly-class-deprived Kati's playful hand.

"Chuck finds all the twins there pretty... accommodating," Nate said behind Blair's back, and she turned to look at him and Serena, choosing to ignore the crude comment.

Serena's hair seemed a bit disheveled and her lips looked swollen. Her face was flushed. There was a glint of pure joy in her eyes. Blair forced her lips into a smile, and it took all her strength to do so. It wasn't that she was jealous of Serena because of Nate or because she was absurdly pretty. No, she just wanted someone who would kiss her senseless, someone who would make her glow like that.

"Nathaniel," she heard Chuck's drawl again, "are you up for a herbal refreshment?"

"Go ahead, Natie," Serena chirped and Blair wondered why on earth someone would encourage their boyfriend's, or almost-boyfriend's, pot habit. Pot smelled bad, made people slow and, she read it somewhere, influenced potency.

"You won't mind if I join you." Carter didn't ask, he stated a fact. He removed the black monster from his lap again, not more gently than the previous time.

Whoregina seemed unperturbed, however. She got up and straightened her skimpy Alexander Wang. "I think I'm up for a hit, too."

Chuck shrugged, a bored-looking expression on his face.

Carter was more vocal, though. "You'd better stay here with the girls." He pecked her on the lips and Blair knew that his concern wasn't for Georgina but for his own amusement. Georgina was getting really clingy really fast.

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Jeremy joined the rest of the guys and the four of them left. Blair abandoned Kati and Iz and pulled Serena to the sofa previously occupied by the love birds Sparks and Baizen, careful to turn her back to Sparks. At that moment, Penelope and Whatever-His-Name-Was returned and made themselves comfortable on the other side of Serena. Blair smirked at Whoregina's realization that there was no room for her there. Her smirk froze, however, when the witch situated herself on the arm behind her.

"I'm so bored here," Georgina whined affectedly. "I really miss the Pink Elephant." Blair stiffened. She could see Serena have the same reaction.

"Well, I certainly don't, Georgie," the blonde said, flipping her hair back. "The place was seriously overrated."

That shut Georgina up, but Blair could sense her wicked smile behind her back.

It had happened last summer. She and Serena were spending their first completely parent-free August in the Hamptons. The only downside was the omnipresent Georgina or – as Blair liked to call her, due to her indisputable promiscuity as well as her general craziness – Whoregina Sparks. However, Blair sagely decided to take the high road and ignore the bitch as much as possible. The three of them went clubbing almost every night. They were determined to get into the Pink Elephant before the summer was through, although Serena and Blair were only fifteen and Georgina – who claimed she had already been there – was just a year older. They had heard the club was all the rage, so they simply had to party there. After all, they were the Upper East Side princesses. They always had to have the best of everything.

When they got out of the cab in front of the club, they looked great in their little black dresses and five-inch stilettos. Blair even had her precious new headband with Swarovski crystals on. The bouncer asked how old they were and they all waved their fake IDs under his nose.

"Look," he told Serena, eying her curves appreciatively, "_you _and Georgie can come in." Serena smiled one of her most blinding smiles.

"But," the man pointed at Blair, "your friend here is a child and looks her age. She doesn't belong in a club like this."

Blair felt blood creeping into her cheeks and tears into her eyes. She was thoroughly humiliated. She was also angry. She was Blair Waldorf! Who was this guy to tell her she couldn't get into some despicable club?

"Come on, S," Whoregina waved her hand at Serena, an enormous grin plastered across her face. "You go in, Georgie. I'll be there in a sec."

Blair jutted her lower lip out, now trying really hard not to cry. Was her best friend going to stand her up, too? This was officially the worst summer ever.

When Georgina's skinny form disappeared, Serena grabbed her hand. "Let's go!"

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Blair frowned. "I'm not allowed to come in, Serena."

Serena laughed her little-girl laugh, shaking her hand. "Now that we've finally gotten rid of Georgina, we can go back home and party all by ourselves."

"But you wanted to party here..." She hated how small her voice sounded. "No, I didn't," Serena claimed. "The place is seriously overrated."

Blair knew she was lying, but it didn't matter. The only important thing was that her best friend truly loved her, even if she had been called a trying-too-hard child in adult clothes.

They went back to Serena's grandmother's house, got drunk from two bottles of the '95 Dom, watched _Breakfast at Tiffany's _and gorged on Lady Godiva. Blair knew that Serena followed her everywhere later that night because she was worried she would feel too guilty about one or two chocolates too many and do what she used to do in those situations. She had never felt more grateful or happy she had such a friend.

"Is that what's going on?" Serena's voice brought her back to the present. "I'm sorry, S. What was that?"

"I was saying that it seems to me that Jeremy Scott Tomkinson has been making moves on you again," Serena explained, "and you've been giving him the cold shoulder again."

Blair shrugged. "Something like that." She sighed. "Look, S, he's the most eligible candidate. I will be his girlfriend eventually, when we get back to the city. I just want to have some fun before I get back to the city."

"B," Serena hugged her, "you don't have to be with someone just because he's 'eligible.' You can have it all, the fun, the fireworks, the perfect boyfriend."

"No, Serena," she pulled back to look at her friend, "the fun and the fireworks are for some people." She left the 'like you and Nate' part silent. "And I'm fine with that. I just want someone stable, who I will love and who will love me back. And, of course, he has to satisfy certain criteria to be my boyfriend." She laughed. "After all, starting from next week, I am the new Queen of Constance Billard."

Her friend smiled. "Of course you are. You're Blair Waldorf. And you deserve it all – the stability, the fun and the fireworks. Don't you ever settle for less."

Blair smiled back. She enveloped Serena in a hug and kissed her on the cheek. "C'mon, let's go dance!"

Serena grinned and the two almost skipped into the dancing crowd, leaving Georgina Sparks behind.

Half an hour and a few Billboard hits later, Blair gladly left Serena in Nate's arms for a slowish song. She picked up a glass of Perrier at the bar. Feeling her face was still flushed from exertion, she

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decided to head back to their table, where she could at least sit down and relax. On her way over there, she was grinning. She rarely danced in public unless she danced with Serena. It was because Serena knew how to both make it fun and keep unwanted guys at bay. She knew that Blair didn't dance with guys unless the song was slow (and even then they usually had to be potential boyfriend material). Blair didn't want to gyrate her ass and grind her pelvis against some disgusting groper's package while he was turning into an octopus, trying to get a hold of all her female attributes at once. Dancing like that was at the top of her "most undignified things" list. She shuddered at the mental image of Prince Theodore alternately sliding his hands down her body, pulling her hips into his crotch, and pumping his fist into the air to the sound of some sleazy Rihanna number.

So engrossed was she in this memory which she had believed to have erased, or at least blocked, that she didn't notice a clearly intoxicated guy staggering her way until he was a foot from her. She swerved to the left as fast as she could, trying to avoid a head-on collision, but his big arm bumped into her, knocking off her balance for a moment. Luckily for the guy, she managed to keep her water intact, not spilling a drop down her dress. She did, however, drop her clutch. She was livid, especially since the guy obviously had no intention of picking it up. She bent down herself, not wanting to give some drunk pig an opportunity to walk all over her new Kate Spade. Only when she straightened up, and had to smooth the skirt of her dress down, did she realize her faux pas. Fortunately, the dress wasn't short enough to cause real damage, but she knew that the better – well, actually, the worst looking – part of her thighs had been exposed, along with the white lace of her flimsy thigh-highs. She tried to play it cool, but couldn't resist the urge to look around and assess the situation. Certainly, not many people could have seen it. And it had lasted only a moment, so it wouldn't end up on Gossip Girl, right?

To her horror, as soon as she turned her head to the right, she was met by an undisguised leer, courtesy of Chuck Bass. Sandwiched between her minions, he wore the smuggest expression she had ever seen and – as if that was not enough – he raised his glass, saluting her. She glared at him, but then it occurred to her that would probably amuse him, so she sent the brightest of smiles his way. He simply ogled her further, his smirk deepening. It only got worse when she realized what song was playing. It was that mindless hip hopish track which repeated the line, "Tell me where'd you get your body from." a bajillion times. Who was the DJ here anyway? Didn't they realize this song was like... years old? She stifled a huff and walked up the table. Ignoring the only three occupants – fortunately, Jeremy was nowhere to be seen, just like all the couples – she sat as far from them as possible. She was fully intent on not even looking at the Basstard ever again.

She was angry with herself. How could she ever have thought about having anything to do with him? Let alone using him. He obviously was a manwhore or something, and it would be best for her to stay away from him. How could she ever use anyone, sexually, when the farthest she had been was first and a half base with Theodore, shortly before their break-up at the beginning of June? Then again, Bass seemed to be interested, at least to the same extent to which he was interested in Kati and Iz, and probably any other female in the room. Maybe...

'No!' she shouted at herself. She should be concentrating on more important things. Like what to wear on the first day of school. Or how many new headbands she still needed for the fall. And how she would eventually mold Jeremy into her perfect prince and live happily ever after with him. She began to picture herself and Jeremy at the cotillion, but her mind soon went blank, so uninspiring that had

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been. Suddenly, she was feeling bored out of her mind. She was bored of Jeremy, of her too small shoe, this club, the Hamptons, everything. The night was underwhelming, like so much in her li- No, she wouldn't go there. Her life was perfect. Well, as much as anyone's life on the UES could be. She had it all. And she had it all planned since she had been a child – straight As at school, Yale, law school, philanthropy, Prince Charming from the UES, two children (a boy and a girl), summers in the Hamptons, winters in Europe. Her life was perfect and her life would be perfect. She wasn't going to let some little things like her parents' divorce or queen bee-wannabes stand in her way.

'Queen Bee of Constance, straight As, Yale, law school, Prince Charming, two kids, first boy, then girl, Colony Club, philanthropy, Hamptons, Europe,' she chanted in her head until her mind went blank again.

"Care for a dance?" A voice snapped her out of her non-thoughts. She glanced up, though she already knew it was Bass.

"No, actually, I wouldn't," she replied, a bit snippily, as she continued to twirl the straw peeping out from her Perrier.

He was more insistent than she thought, though. "Then humor me." "Why would I?" She raised her eyebrows. Her voice was disinterested. "Because you're as bored as I am."

She looked at him more carefully this time, not knowing what she expected to find in his face. She found nothing, however. His face was impassive, and she guessed that might mean he was bored. But something strange flickered in his eyes, something that maybe resembled... genuine interest. Or maybe she had simply had one vodkatini too many before switching to water.

She stood up, placing her hand in his. "I guess I have nothing better to do," she informed him regally and he lead her into other dancing couples.

The song was pretty slow. It sounded like something Italian, though she couldn't understand a word of it. Chuck was holding her close, perhaps a bit closer than necessary. She could feel his breath on her hair. She could smell a mix of some musky scents, blended with alcohol. She was surprised it didn't make her sick. In fact, it felt pretty good. Just like the warmth radiating from his body. It was spreading from her fingertips through her entire body, down to her toes. It wasn't bothering her, even though the room was too hot already. She closed her eyes slowly, feeling a little dizzy. She wondered again what his lips would feel like on hers. She was feeling bold enough to find out...

"Blair!" A hand grabbed her upper arm, nails digging into her flesh. She winced in pain. "It's time we went home!" Serena yelled, pulling her away from Chuck. "The cab is waiting."

Blair was about to tell her off for behaving like that, but she saw Whoregina, sporting her vampire grin, and Nate behind her, so she kept mum.

"Right," she mumbled, nodding. She finally looked at Chuck, but he wasn't looking at her. He was

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looking at Serena, yet another undecipherable expression on his face. She should have known.

She joined Serena and waved in the general direction of the boys, all her good mood gone down the drain.

The ride home was uneventful although – much to Blair's dismay – Georgina had decided to share the cab with them. She would blurt out something about Carter (things like "His jaw line is shaped so exquisitely." or "He really only drinks his scotch neat.") from time to time, her eyes gleaming wildly, and Serena would occasionally comment on it. Blair remained quiet. She wasn't ready to gloss over her best friend's rudeness and Chuck's lust for that very same friend just yet.

It was a relief when the cab pulled in front of the villa. She hurried out of the car while Serena bid good night to Georgina. The two of them entered the house then, the clicking of their heels echoing through the empty foyer. Actually, the entire building was empty as CeCe, Serena's grandmother, had gone home to Montecito earlier that day and the staff had the night off.

"B," Serena started softly, following Blair up the stairs.

Blair faked a yawn. "Oh, I'm so tired!" Her hand was already on the doorknob of her room. "Good night, S. See you in the morning."

Serena's hand closed around her wrist. "I know that you're mad at me, B."  
"Me? Why would I be mad at you?" Blair smiled, giving her friend a doe-eyed stare.

The blonde sighed. "Just do me a favor, B. Look Chuck up on Gossip Girl. Trust me, you don't want anything to do with him."

"I still have no idea what you're talking about." Blair frowned. "And I certainly don't want anything with Chuck Bass. In fact, he isn't interesting enough for me to look him up on Gossip Girl."

"That's great, B!" Serena leaned in to kiss her cheek. Judging by her little giggle which accompanied the kiss and her wine-scented breath, she was still a bit inebriated. "See you in the morning!" she chirped before she sauntered down the hall to her room.

Once inside her room, Blair kicked her pumps off and wiggled her stiff toes. Tomorrow was a day for flats, she decided. She debated whether she should go take her makeup off and shower first or... She grabbed her laptop. She entered her password ("queenboftheues") hastily and started her browser. The familiar homepage of Gossip Girl's blog loaded and she was disappointed that there still weren't any pics from the evening. She quickly refocused on the task at hand, though. "Chuck Bass," she typed into the search box.

The next morning, Blair slid her white sailor-knot headband half an inch back and dabbed a bit of La Mer balm onto her lower lip. She threw a glance at the floor mirror, assessing her marine-blue Sonia Rykiel dress. It wasn't her favorite, with its sailor collar and big cream bow. It wasn't that the dress itself wasn't very nice. It was just that it made her look at least a year younger. However, today she felt like wearing something comfortable and a bit loose, but still chic. Besides, the color really

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complimented her very slightly tanned complexion and her dark hair, which was straight today. She wore her La Perla swimsuit underneath the dress, so that she could plop into the hot tub right after breakfast.

Just as the thought of food crossed her mind, she heard her stomach growl. She strode down to the dining room. It was a little after nine o'clock and the morning was a bit cloudy and chilly for late August, so she didn't really feel like eating outside. She hoped that the housekeeper had anticipated that.

When she poked her head through the door, she sighed in relief as her eyes locked onto the ample amounts of food on the table. Then she looked around. As expected, the small, rattan-furnished, second dining room was empty. Serena would rarely get up before Blair. Some days, Blair would wait for her, but usually she was too hungry. That was not strange, seeing that she rarely ate anything after seven o'clock in the evening. In fact, yesterday, after that handful of cherries around four-thirty, she hadn't eaten anything except a couple of alcohol-drenched olives. Not that those martinis hadn't had enough calories for the entire day.

Blair sat down to the table, wolfing the food with her eyes. The pink plates – the same ones that Serena and she had picked out when they were nine and dubbed their "Hamptons china" – were loaded with pastries, muffins and fruits. They were surrounded by pitchers of water, orange juice, milk and coffee. (The girls drank their green tea, on which Blair insisted, in the afternoon.) There was plain and vanilla – Serena's favorite – low-fat yogurt, too, of course, as well as honey and several kinds of jam.

As she slowly ate spoonfuls of plain yogurt, her eyes fixed on the simple white tablecloth, Blair's mind drifted back to last night. She had fallen asleep with a full face of makeup, something she would never hear the end of if her mother somehow found out. It was all Chuck Bass's fault. She was reading through the entries tagged with his name when she dozed off. There were dozens of posts about him. She wondered why she didn't remember his name then. Once she realized that he was last mentioned two years ago, when he was a high school freshman and she was a middle school senior, she knew the answer. There were far more important things than a gossip blog going on in her life at that time. So she kept on reading, wanting to find out everything she could about him. In the middle of yet another story about a debauched party he'd thrown in his suite at the Palace, one of his father's hotels, she fell asleep.

Now, reaching for a particularly mouth-watering croissant, she drew her final conclusion: Chuck Bass was someone at the mention of whose name you should cross yourself and throw salt over your shoulder for good measure. She dipped her spoon into the honey. She really shouldn't be eating pure carbs, but she had lost three pounds during her sojourn in the Hamptons, by swimming every day and eating mostly fruit and yogurt. Plus, Mother couldn't see her. She spread the honey over a piece of the croissant and tucked into it. Moreover, she really deserved a little comfort food after almost making a complete fool of herself by trying to seduce the devil himself. Yes, Chuck Bass was the devil. And she was fully intent on staying away from him. Not that he affected her in any way. Chuck Bass was the devil, and he had no effect on her whatsoever. Why, then, all she could think about right now had to do with him and honey and her mouth...?

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"Enough!" she said under her breath as she jumped from her chair.

What the hell was going on? She was Blair Waldorf; she didn't have NC-17-rated fantasies about pervs! Only about her (still faceless) prince! And they _never _included honey. Only a chateau in Tuscany.

'This must be happening because I'm ovulating or something.' She was calming herself down. 'Or because I've been single the whole summer.'

She took a deep breath and sat down again. She would not let the completely irrelevant Basstard ruin her breakfast. She picked up another chunk of the croissant and poured a little honey over it. She could almost feel his lips gliding down her honey-covered-

"Enough!" She was louder this time.

Leaving the remains of the pastry on the plate, she bolted for the French doors which lead to the garden. She could eat later.

No sooner did she stomp onto the patio than she yelped when she collided with something. Or rather, some_one_.

Serena flinched, but laughed instantly. "Sorry, B. I didn't see you."

Blair began to massage her forehead, which had hit Serena's chin, but her hand froze as she noticed the two figures behind her friend. She could feel her eyes turn into saucers and her lips form an "o" before she pressed them together.

"I was just ushering the boys to get some coffee and champagne and orange juice for Mimosas. They insist that they have already had breakfast and won't try Minnie's home-made croissants, so..." Serena rambled, but Blair wasn't really listening. She was focused on the Basstard, who was yet again smirking, his eyes traveling the length of her body lazily. In the words of Scarlett O'Hara: he looked as if he knew what she looked like without her dress... and her swimsuit. She felt heat rising to her cheeks and she silently cursed him to hell. This was going to be a far less pleasant morning than she had anticipated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: C'mon and Love Me **

_You're good lookin' and you're lookin' like you should be good. _

Restraining herself from gritting her teeth audibly, Blair reached for her champagne flute, which rested on the Italian terracotta tiles of CeCe Rhodes's – thankfully – spacious hot tub. If looks could kill, CeCe's granddaughter Serena would have been dead quite some time ago. However, as they couldn't do physical harm, the giggling blonde hadn't even noticed a single one of Blair's withering stares.

_I really, really wanna do you... a favor and... _

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Blair curled her fingers, which she had caught drumming in sync with the bass against the edge of the tub, into a fist.

_I've got a dance move, you should know... _

The song was disgusting. She threw another murderous glare at Serena. Not that Serena could actually see it, as Blair had her oversized Fendi sunglasses on. She had been too busy whispering and smooching with Nate at the other end of the tub anyway. Blair would have been happy for her on any other occasion, but she really couldn't be all glowing and supportive when she had to endure the close proximity of someone like Chuck Bass, with a background music track called "Booty Call." For the life of her, she couldn't figure out how a song by that mat-haired fashion disaster with a distasteful name had ended up on Serena's iPod, among all those pretentious Brooklyn-based indie bands she personally cared for even less than for Kesha, Cheque, or whatever her name was.

At last giving up the lost battle, Blair closed her eyes. She sighed a little, trying to enjoy the swirling of the warm water over her back and her legs and to tune out everything and everyone else. She should have known better than to think she would be allowed to do so.

"Natie!" Serena's laugh pierced the air. "I'll go see if there are any left." She hopped out of the tub. Droplets splashed all over Nate's face and into his eyes, but he didn't seem to care.

"S," Blair claimed a bit of her friend's attention, "if you're going inside, can you get me an aspirin?"

"Sure." Serena smiled before she strutted – which was her usual way of walking – inside, her white Eres bikini causing Nate to grin like an idiot and Chuck to lower his Aviators.

Inwardly, Blair scoffed. She was officially a _fourth _wheel. Chuck had been ignoring her ever since her failed attempt to, for God knew what reason, spark a conversation about his time at Le Rosey. Serena had not even asked what she needed the aspirin for. And Nate... well, she hadn't expected anything from him anyway. Apart from him being utterly smitten with Serena, there was also the little fact that he had been thoroughly baked when he and Chuck arrived.

Blair took another sip of her Mimosa and put the flute away. In the process, one of her nails scraped against the edge of a tile and a giant mark appeared in her soft-pink nail polish.

"Perfect," she muttered as she placed her shades next to her glass to inspect her ruined manicure. "Just perfect."

"Good."

'Oh great, he hasn't forgotten how to talk,' she thought. Not that he could have picked a worse moment to start talking. In what parallel universe exactly could this disaster on her right index finger be _good_? Assuming that he was indeed talking about her nails.

"Perfection bothers me," Chuck elaborated. "I feel the need to violate it."

This time, Blair scoffed out loud. "_Please_, you feel the need to violate everyone. You'll leer at any human female over the age of twelve that happens to be in sight. Well, at least I hope they're only

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_human _females."  
He took off his sunglasses. "My, my, look who's been busy looking who I'm looking at," he said in a

low murmur which made the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. In a good way.

"Don't flatter yourself, Bass." Blair narrowed her eyes as he smirked his trademark smirk. "I'm observant by nature."

"Is that so?" he asked, still looking amused.

She shrugged, picking her Mimosa up again. She turned her eyes to the patch of sky visible between the rich, kelly green crowns of... some trees surrounding the tub. The old gardener, Pedro, had told Serena and her several times what they were, but Blair would always forget in a minute. No matter how much she pretended at times, when the occasion required, she had never been a nature lover. Naturally, that didn't mean she didn't enjoy basking in CeCe's perfectly manicured – and hopefully (except for Bass, of course) completely pest-free – garden. She closed her eyes and stretched lazily, her arms above her head. She inhaled deeply, catching something she recognized as Chuck's musky cologne. She tried to ignore it. The still somewhat timid sun felt really good on her sunscreen-coated face. Then again, it was obviously turning her brain into mush, as she was beginning to wonder if Chuck was watching her and – even worse – what it would be like to be... not exactly violated, but... _ravished _by him, like in those novels with tacky covers that her maid Dorota read and her mother wrinkled her nose at.

She bit her lip and outstretched her hand, feeling the tiles for her phone. This... _attraction _was unnatural and completely crazy. She had to put an end to it.

"What's taking Serena so long?" she said, more for the sake of speaking than to anyone in particular. She wasn't sure if Serena even had her cell on her, but dialing would provide a welcome distraction...

_Some days I'm a super bitch, up to my old tricks, but- _

Blair snapped her phone shut, thus cutting Christina Aguilera's booming voice off. Serena, really! Not that she wasn't a bitch from time to time, but she had had specifically told Serena to change her ringtone back to _Moon River_, immediately. She clenched her teeth. Nate didn't react; he still seemed half-dead. And Chuck... _chuckled_. Well, that was a first. He had always smirked, never actually laughed.

"So-o, you're a super bitch, huh?," he said. "I would never have guessed."

"Yeah, I'm a super bitch," she admitted coolly, quirking her eyebrows. "And Serena is a man eater." Okay, maybe she hadn't changed her ringtone for Serena, either.

Chuck grinned. "I knew there was more to you than meets the eye, Waldorf." "Yeah?" she challenged. "And what does meet the eye?"  
"A lot."

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His words were no more than two simple syllables, but she felt her blood boiling. "Are you saying I'm fat?" she blurted out in a slightly raised voice. She instantly regretted both the question and the tone.

"Fat?" His brow furrowed and he seemed flabbergasted for a moment. "I'm just saying you're a sensory overload." He shrugged.

"Well," she tried to save her face, having regained her temper, "stop staring at me then." She smiled one of the smiles she usually saved for her current prey. "We wouldn't want you to get overloaded, would we?"

"Me," he slid his Aviators back on, "staring at you?" He shook his head lightly. "You wish, little girl."

"No, _you _wish," she said slyly, though the statement didn't really make sense once she thought about it. It was just as though something was pushing her to contradict him every chance she got. "And _I _am going to find S," she added while she climbed out of the tub and headed towards the house, leaving her shell-pink ballet espadrilles by Lanvin behind.

She smiled to herself as she added an extra sway to her step. Though she had decided to leave bikinis to Serena this summer, she wished she had at least put on the ruched one-shoulder Lanvin, if not the cheerful, sweetheart-neckline Oscar de la Renta, that morning. However, she knew she still looked good in her simple black one-piece. (The swimsuits shopping _had _taken days, after all.) She couldn't help but wonder whether he was looking after her as she padded to the door barefoot, her neck and back completely exposed and glistening with water droplets. She couldn't well turn around and check, of course.

As soon as she entered the second dining room, the part of the house nearest to the garden, she almost collided with her best friend for the second time that day.

"Oh, B," Serena, who had changed into a white silk jumpsuit splashed with red, blue and yellow, said cheerily, "here's your aspirin."

Blair took the bottle from her hand and shoved it onto the table. "Thanks."

Serena shook her head. "I did suppose the headache would only be an excuse not to spend more time with us."

"Oh, how perceptive of you, S!" Blair mocked, shivering lightly as the room was considerably colder than the garden. "But I'd say it would be an excuse not to spend more time with Chuck Bass." She took a step towards the door which opened into the foyer. "Because it's not like I've been spending time with you. You've been too busy shoving your tongue down Nate's throat."

Serena looked like she'd slapped her.

"I'm sorry, B. I never meant to make you feel like a third wheel," she said after a pregnant pause. "I should have told you I asked Nate to come last night. They'll probably leave soon-"

"No, S," Blair interrupted as her stomach twisted in guilt. What was she doing? Didn't she want her best friend to be happy and in love? "_I _should be sorry, and I _am_. Of course you should be spending

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more time with Nate. Remember I've been telling you that for ages?" She hugged Serena tightly, not realizing straight away that she was dampening the floral-y print of her jumpsuit. "Oops, sorry," she said, pulling away a little.

Serena, good-natured as always, just waved her head a little and smiled.

Blair smiled right back. "I see the way you and Nate look at each other. I want you to be this happy forever." She rolled her eyes. "All I wish is that I don't get stuck with Bass during all that time."

"Yeah," Serena nodded, "I'm sorry about that. I guess he tagged along." "He can be entertaining... sometimes," she added after a beat.

"Sure," Blair shook her head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "He can give me pointers on how to look good in my mug shot if I'm ever arrested for disorderly conduct."

As she spoke, she saw Serena's eyes narrow and she knew, even before she pronounced the last word, that she'd just made a big mistake.

"So, B," Serena started, in what Blair liked to call her wanna-be-sly voice, "you did like you said you would and you didn't look Chuck up on Gossip Girl, right?"

Blair exaggerated a sigh. "Okay, maybe I did look him up," she said dismissively. "But only because Kati and Iz wouldn't stop texting me about him. I wanted to see for myself what the allure was."

"So, what was it?"

"I have no idea." She waved her hand. "I don't find him alluring in the least bit." She wasn't sure why she had such an urge to hide the truth from Serena's inquisitive blue eyes. Then again, what was there to hide? She didn't _like _him. She was merely attracted to him on a purely physical level. And that attraction was going to fade, and fast.

Serena smiled one of her toothy grins. "That's great, B," she said, and her über-protectiveness was beginning to grate on Blair's nerves. Sure, Chuck might be the Big Bad Wolf. But she wasn't Little Red Riding Hood (as if she'd ever wear a hoodie!).

"So, I'm getting a bit hungry," Serena changed the topic, "and I was going to ask the boys to join me for brunch. What about you? I guess you didn't eat much this morning."

Dodging her concerned look, Blair made another step towards the door. "Sure. I'll just go change quickly."

Twenty minutes later, Blair was in front of the smaller dining room, completely refreshed and clutching her phone, miffed that Gossip Girl hadn't posted anything yet. She was in a silk-chiffon Alberta Ferretti spaghetti-strap dress. It was mauve with slightly pleated panels of lemon at the sides, below the waistline, and a panel of peach on the back. Lilac trimmed the not-too-low neckline. The dress was much snugger-fitting than the one she had worn to breakfast, and it ran to her mid-thighs. She had figured that, if Serena could wear that gorgeous strapless Reem Acra (in which she, with her

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never-ending legs, looked divine and Blair would look like a pudgy midget), she could wear something in which she looked stunning to brunch. The length of the dress was revealing enough for her, though, so she hadn't removed the detachable mauve slip. She had completed the look with a thin lilac silk headband and a pair of Sigerson Morrison flats. How S could wear flip-flops from Bendel's, and not look like a middle schooler but a goddess, Blair failed to grasp over and over again. She'd decided to just be glad that this year S had dropped her Britney/"California Gurls" routine of baring her midriff and wearing Daisy Dukes (well, she _was _partly Californian by heritage) in the Hamptons.

Preparing herself for another exercise in playing an extra on the Serena and Nate Show (which wouldn't be that bad if she was the only extra), Blair pasted a smile on her face and opened the door. The room turned out to be empty, though. For a moment, she was startled, but then she heard faint voices from the outside. The brunch had obviously been served on the patio. She quickly crossed the room, barely touching the floor, having been sent to the seventh heaven by the smell of chocolate and cinnamon. She grinned as wide as she could, already feeling Minnie's superb éclairs (well, _éclair_, really – she would not allow herself more than one) melting against her palate. She was less than a foot from the half-opened French door when she decided to curb her cravings for a while.

"Not that you have told me what _is _going on between you and Serena," she heard Chuck say. She hadn't been sure guys talked about that stuff. She was grateful they did, however, because she had yet to corner Serena and make her give her (almost) a play-by-play of last night.

"We're having fun," Nate said noncommittally.

Blair was disappointed, and not because she honestly believed Serena and Nate were just "having fun." Although she had been hanging out – kind of – with Nate for a couple of weeks only, he was an open book to her, just like he was to almost everyone else. She could bet her new Valentino bag that he'd elope to Vegas with her best friend this very instant, if Serena were the marrying kind. So, no, Blair was disappointed because she was still deprived of all the juicy details of Serena and Nate's transition from fast friends to friends with – at least – French-kissing benefits.

"Right," Chuck said and she could almost see him roll his eyes. "Well, I think I'm going to leave the two of you to have fun on your own and head back to the city this afternoon."

"Already?" Nate asked, the disappointment in his voice making Blair wonder about the depth of their bromance. "You only came yesterday, and I last saw you during the Christmas break."

"Don't get all sentimental on me, Nathaniel," Chuck drawled in his usual manner, for which Blair wasn't sure if made her annoyed or turned on. In other words, his voice had the same effect on her as his smirk. She mentally slapped herself. Of course he made her annoyed. Nothing more.

"Skype counts for something, too," Chuck went on. "We'll have fun in the city. _Have fun _with your girl now."

"You can have fun in the Hamptons, too," Nate suggested hopefully. "Blair's here..."

"Oh yes, _Blair_," Chuck scoffed and Blair's hands rolled into fists. "I looked her up on Gossip Girl. She's the Virgin Ice Queen."

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Blair's stomach plummeted to her feet. So what if she was a virgin? She was one by choice. Her first time was going to be special, with someone she loved with all her heart. Was it wrong that she wasn't a slut? Was this how other boys talked about her, too? Did they all think she was a frigid bitch? She felt her eyes prickle with tears and she dried them furiously with the back of her hand.

"You see, Nathaniel, while I admit that, from time to time, she can be amusing with her antics, I'd rather not deflower her." His tone was business-like, but he still managed to sound unbelievably lewd.

She wanted to snort. As if she would ever let _him_... _deflower _her; those gross little fantasies be damned, her first time was going to be s-p-e-c-i-a-l. Instead, she trembled, and not with shudders of revulsion. She hated her mutinous body.

"You know that I don't like spending my time with blushing virgins."

To Blair's horror, Nate laughed. "Don't tell me you don't dig the whole 'she was so shy till I drove her wild' thing?"

"Frankly, Nathaniel," Chuck sighed, "your musical tastes are questionable, and so is your slang, though it is me and not you who's spent two years in Swiss countryside. On a different note, I'm not bored enough to clear up my schedule to make a good girl go bad. You of all people should know I like my girls bad."

Blair pursed her lips. Who the hell he thought he was? Who the hell cared how Chuck Bass liked his girls? She liked her boys good. _Good. _That meant Chuck Bass had a snowball's chance in hell with her.

"I admit that last night I thought Serena's little friend," he said and Blair frowned, "was about as pure as New York snow, with those Bette Davis eyes of hers." There was something in his voice that she couldn't understand, but that made her feel that last night she had had the upper hand. She tried to decipher the Bette Davis metaphor and nothing came to mind, except a Gwyneth Paltrow movie. "Nevertheless, when I looked her up on Gossip Girl..."

Blair half-smiled, reveling in the fact that it wasn't only her who had been searching the blog last night.

"...I realized that Blair would be trouble. You know how clingy the devirginized ones become."

So, that had been his plan, huh? Use once and throw away? Blair's face distorted with anger. She was Blair Waldorf; nobody could act like that with her! She conveniently pushed the little fact that she had been planning to use him once and throw him away back to the recesses of her mind.

"That, my friend, is one of the reasons why I'd rather spend my time with a Whoregina," Chuck continued with his monologue and, against her will, Blair's lips spread into a grin when she realized they had the same nickname for Georgina Sparks – maybe he wasn't just a self-absorbed ass... "Not with Whoregina herself, mind you, Nathaniel. You and I both know she's as clingy as they get."

Blair suddenly felt the need to soak her brain in bleach. Had both of them...? Ew! That was beyond

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disgusting. "Besides,..."

Chuck spoke yet again, so she had to conclude he liked the sound of his voice as much as she- Hell, she needed to focus. The guy was a total pig. Who had insulted her not two minutes ago.

"...Blair is hardly more than mildly amusing with her snotty remarks."

Okay, that did it! She was "hardly more than mildly amusing"? And what was he? A stand-up comedian? An erudite? She stifled a huff of indignation. Chuck Bass needed to be squashed. And squashed he would be.

"Whatever, man," Nate said. Blair imagined he shrugged. "If she wasn't Serena's friend, maybe I'd give you an incentive to reconsider. But I don't want to get in trouble with Serena, especially not because of you."

Silence ensued, so Blair took a deep breath and stepped onto the patio. She would not let anyone, especially not someone with no significance in her life, bring her down.

Chuck and Nate, who were eating the heavenly croissants they had refused earlier, both looked up at her. The latter gave her a wide, friendly smile, which she returned without too much enthusiasm. The former gave her a slow once-over, which she ignored. He had already made her feel unwanted. He probably derived some sadistic pleasure from leering at her, and she was not about to heighten his experience by reacting in any way.

She sat down diagonally from the two of them at the eight-person wicker table. She didn't want to interact with them, not even with Nate, not even to ask where Serena was. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a few wary glances the blond boy sent her way, but she didn't feel generous enough to let him off the hook. He was the Basstard's friend _and _he had been encouraging said Basstard to "have fun" with her.

She was about to reach for an éclair when the Basstard took one. She grabbed a nearby Danish instead and flipped her phone open. There were no new messages or calls, but she pretended to be busy because Nate seemed like he might address her any moment. Finally, after a lot of her reading through the old texts, he started talking to Chuck. Blair muffled a sigh of relief and bit into a piece of her Danish. As she considered whether to eat an éclair afterwards or not, her phone vibrated and she opened it eagerly, anticipating the dirt Gossip Girl was dishing today.

_Good morning, Upper East Siders! _

_Hope you had a good night's sleep. I know I did, even though I was contemplating all the hotness in the Hamptons until the wee hours. If you weren't at Axe Lounge (and you're not on a different continent), you have no life, but don't worry – I'm here to fill you in. _

_So, what was so hot last night? Poppy Lifton's almost non-existent underwear, for starters. Look out, Tinsley and Olivia, it seems Poppy is our new it-girl! Though, on the second thought, Poppy should _

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_look out, too. Serena van der Woodsen is looking better than ever, and her new arm candy is none other but our beloved lacrosse-playing, pot-smoking heartthrob Nate Archibald. I wonder what our ex-Queen of Constance Billard, Oxford-bound Rain Hoffstetter, thinks about that. Oh wait, I know – she doesn't think about Natie at all. She's been spotted having tea at the Savoy with Lord Marcus Beaton. Sorry, S, but R wins this one. _

_Back to the Hamptons... Our recently crowned Queen of Constance Blair Waldorf was spotted flirting halfheartedly with Jeremy Scott Tomkinson _and _dancing cheek-to-cheek with – drumroll, please – Chuck Bass! Yes, that's right. Our favorite bad boy is in town. (And rumor has it he's returning to St. Jude's for his senior year, much to the delight of the latest crop of the UES belles and dismay of their mothers.) Careful, B, though you're a queen, you can lose your head... and your panties. _

_In other news, Penelope Shafai was spotted with yet another townie. No wonder even Kati and Iz are starting to avoid her. On the flip side, this townie is better built than the previous one. Good job, P! Who thought you had it in you... _

_Stay tuned, lovelies! More spottings (and pics) coming soon! Some Q&A, too. In the meantime, I have to do something about my pounding head. Oh Dom, darling, you're going to be the death of me! _

_You know you love me. xoxo  
Gossip Girl _

Long after she had finished reading, Blair stared at the blast. What. The. Fuck. Was Gossip Girl making fun of her? Insinuating that she was interested in Chuck fucking Bass? That had to be a joke! Still, she wasn't laughing. She scrolled down, only to find a low-resolution pic of her and the Basstard dancing, though obviously not cheek-to-cheek. She didn't know who she hated most – Gossip Girl, Chuck or herself. Chuck, she decided easily. It was all his fault. He had practically coerced her into that dance. She looked at the picture again. They looked good. Damn it. _She _looked good. And she was dancing with Gossip Girl's "favorite bad boy." Not everything was that bad. She was being talked about. She could live with that, even if her name had been, by some cruel joke of fate, associated with the name of Chuck Bass.

Appeased, she reached for an éclair. Then she frowned once more when her eyes landed on Chuck. (Not that she wanted to look at him – he was on the other side of the eclairs.) He was smearing honey onto a croissant now and she hated him more fervently than ever. This hatred had nothing... well, almost nothing to do with her previous daydreams starring him and honey. It had to do with the fact that he was wearing his shirt again. A plaid, lilac and mauve shirt. She was matchy-matchy with Chuck Basstard. And worse: he could think it was intentional. She hated the sun and the effect it obviously had been having on her head. This day officially could not get any worse. As soon as she finished with brunch, she would go change. And throw this dress away, never to see it again. She had known she ought to have worn one of her mother's nautically-inspired designs...

She shoved a forkful of the cake into her mouth, but she was still seething. She was tempted to go change immediately. She decided, however, that she wouldn't let him affect her in any way.

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Yet, that didn't mean she wouldn't tune in to his conversation with Nate. Nate could say something important about Serena and it was her duty as Serena's best friend to catch it.

At first, she had to strain her hearing a bit, because the boys were talking in unusually low voices. She smiled to herself smugly – they had to be talking about Nate and Serena. However, as either her hearing was getting better or the boys' voices louder, or both, her smile was transforming into a grimace of disgust and rage.

"I knew she was very... _talented _as soon as she tied that cherry stem into a perfect knot." Chuck's eyes glazed over. "When I heard she used to be a gymnast - you know, before those double D's started to blossom... Ooh, man, I swear she was even better than that Mets cheerleader from last week... The ways she can bend and-"

Blair's dessert fork hit her plate with a loud clatter.

"Would you mind stop being so heinous for a few minutes at least?" she bit out, her eyebrows almost knitting together. "Or is that too much to ask?"

He looked at her for a couple of moments, his facial expression never changing an ounce. "What's the matter, little girl?" he asked. "Aren't you in the least bit curious about the world that exists outside your sheltered little life?"

"Chuck, man..." Nate, always the peacemaker, started, but Blair cut him off.

"Firstly, I'm _Blair Waldorf_, not 'Little Girl,'" she began, trying not to show too much irritation at his condescending words. "Secondly, no, I am certainly not interested in the gory details of your sexcapades with STD-infested sluts, especially not when I'm trying to eat." She stabbed her fork into the remains of the éclair. Then she finished in a saccharine voice, "Thirdly, you do realize all those girls are all over you just because you're Chuck Bass, don't you?"

"_Blair Waldorf_," he rolled her name off his tongue slowly, observing her through half-lowered lashes, "of course they're throwing themselves at me because I'm Chuck Bass."

"I think you misunderstood me." She made sure to give him the most sugary smile she could muster. "They're throwing themselves at you because you're _a _Bass, Bart Bass's son, not because you're Chuck Bass." She gave him a once-over as she concluded, letting a very deliberate hint of faux pity lace her final words, "Honestly, who would take a second look at you?"

There was a quick succession of emotions on his face. She recognized anger and... hurt? And for some reason, she couldn't gloat over the fact that she had hit his sore spot. Maybe because she knew all too well how much pain the parent card could cause.

Chuck's features were composed back into his usual smug expression with lightning speed, though. "You, for one, have taken quite a few looks at me since this morning." He flashed his teeth at her, and he had never seemed more dangerous.

"Because of that Eurotrash shirt you're wearing," she shot back without hesitation, but it fell flat, even

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to her ears.

"Yes, I'm sure my Dolce shirt is the reason," he said with his usual, overblown self-confidence. "Don't worry, Blair Waldorf," he lowered his voice, "don't be afraid to cave in to your desires." He grinned the predatory grin again. "I will be happy to showcase my talents, which have all those models drooling over me and begging for more, just for you." He leaned across the table, whispering, "You, me, no clothes, maybe some honey..."

At the mention of honey, Blair snapped from her hypnosis-like state, her eyes bulging. She jumped from her chair, sending her napkin to the concrete, and reminded herself to start breathing. He was a bastard if there ever was one. And she wanted him. Bad.

"Chuck," Serena's voice was unusually shrill, "what the hell are you doing? What did you tell her?" "Nothing yet," he enunciated, perfectly calm.

Serena put down the bowl full of cherries and strawberries she had brought. "Nate," she turned to the other boy, "what did he do to Blair?"

"I..." Nate stammered. "She seemed to be handling him well-"

Blair interrupted him again. "Don't worry, S. Just because Bass is on dry land in polite company – no offense, Nate," she flashed him a small smile, "that doesn't mean I can't deal with him if I absolutely have to. Have fun." She picked up the fruit bowl and smiled at no one in particular. "I'm going to read a little," she added before she strode away.

A good few hours later, Blair popped another miniature strawberry into her mouth and sighed, stretching on her teak sun lounger. Lying by CeCe's Olympic pool was proving to be exhausting. She had nothing to do as she had slammed her book shut (and thrown it under the lounger usually occupied by Serena) the second that Mr. Darcy proclaimed, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_." Even Jane Austen, who was supposed to be her friend, had reminded her of the Basstard. This day was such an utter disaster!

Sighing again, she picked up a cherry from the bowl, which she had put on the small table between the two loungers, shielding her sunscreen with it. The afternoon was getting progressively warmer. So, it must have been the sun again, because Blair Waldorf was trying to tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. Wasn't that something that strippers did in movies without any artistic merit? Why was she trying to twist the stem into an impossible shape, then? Well, that was mildly entertaining. And she didn't have anything better to do. She most certainly wasn't doing that because of... you know, the Mother-Chucker, which was her new nickname for _him_; not that she really had _any _nickname for him.

Why would she do anything because of him? Objectively speaking, he wasn't even that good looking. He was a bit shorter than Nate. He didn't have washboard abs like Nate. Or Jeremy, she thought, slightly surprised he crossed her mind. He even had chest hair. She despised chest hair, for crying out loud! Even _Cosmo _drew the line at chest hair, not that she read trash like _Cosmo_... except that one time (or maybe five times) when she had been thinking of going all the way with Theodore.

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In sum, she should have found the Basstard abhorrent. And she did find him abhorrent. But some small part of her brain wouldn't stop thinking about him. About the way her skin had felt both hot and cold, and tingly, when he'd touched her that morning.

"Nice necklace," he had said, tracing his index finger partly along her necklace and partly along her collarbone. She was trying to act blasé about it, like boys touched her like that all the time and like they all made her feel that way. "Maybe it shouldn't be in a hot tub."

He removed his hand and she felt... _disappointed_? In an attempt to both hide her breathlessness and temper her anger at herself, she shifted in the water, reaching for her Mimosa.

"It'll be fine," she retorted. "I won't take it off. It's a gift." She wondered why she felt this sudden need for him to think that it was a gift from a boy.

"With the cutest inscription on the pendant." Of course, leave it to Serena to make things completely clear. "_To Blair Bear_-"

"Serena!" she she said pretty calmly, although she wanted to snarl.

"Sorry, B." Serena had the decency to look like she was feeling a bit bad. "But that's really sweet," she cooed. "Your dad's the best."

"Yeah," Blair agreed, "he really is." She knew Serena wouldn't catch the vaguest hint of sarcasm in her voice. Why, then, did Chuck seem like he had caught it? She looked away, placing her drink on the tiles again.

Now, lying on her lounger, with her eyes closed, Blair slowly ran a finger across her necklace and her skin, trying to recreate the feeling his touch had ignited. It didn't work. She let out an exasperated sigh. How could she want him if he was so disgusting? He had even admitted it himself earlier.

Serena had just chirruped a "see you next week" and pressed the "end call" button, stopping the torrent of words coming out of Georgina's mouth. "Georgie had to go to Connecticut; something about Guns 'n' Roses, her show pony," she explained, as if anyone out of the three of them cared.

"I miss riding sometimes," Blair said dreamily as she pulled her sailor dress over her head, preparing to get into the tub.

"C'mon, B. That was in the first grade." Serena laughed. "You went riding every week for two months before you pronounced it too messy."

Chuck pulled his lips into a lazy smile. "Did she now?" His eyes very deliberately fell onto her thighs.

Blair felt the area around her cheekbones turn hot. She put her dress in front of her, pretending she was folding it. Really, had she gone on with equestrianism, her thighs would be so much firmer and better looking now.

"What about you, Chuck?" she asked as if she wasn't mortified. "Are you an equestrian?" She truly should have known better.

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"Let's just say," his eyes aimlessly wandered her dress-shielded body again, "I like to do my riding in air-conditioned spaces."

"You're disgusting," she spat out the first thing that came to her mind. Okay, maybe the second one. "Yes, I am." He grinned at her scowl. "So why be shy?"

There, he had admitted it himself. So why couldn't she just relax by the pool and not think about him at all? She got up and retrieved her book from the grass. She would spend the rest of the day productively.

"Hey, Blair."

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. How was she supposed to be productive when the Basstard's best friend was interrupting her?

"How's it goin'?" Nate proceeded with caution.

She looked up at him and found out he was not alone. "I was doing fine until now," she said. "No offense, Nate."

"We come in peace." Nate put his hands up in mock surrender, giving her one of his dazzling smiles. "Serena asked us to call you to lunch."

"Where is she?"

"She's talking to her mom."

Blair raised her eyebrows. "Lily called?"

Nate nodded.

"'Twas about time," Blair mumbled under her breath, closing her book. She didn't fail to notice the cryptic look Chuck shot her. However, she didn't fail to stop pretending he didn't exist, either.

"So," Chuck said, "what are you reading, Blair?"

"Why do you care?" she snapped.

He shrugged. "I'm just trying to be polite."

"No need to be polite on my account, _Chuck_." She hoped she didn't sound as petulant as she felt.

"Fine." No emotion was apparent in his voice. She was beginning to wonder if he was a snarky robot, whose only needs were food, water and sex, and who fed off people's discomfort.

"I don't know about you," she said to Nate, "but I'm famished." With that, she turned on her heel and hurried to the patio.

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Serena was already sitting at the table, staring at the assortment of salads, fish and pasta.

"S," Blair said, sitting down next to her, "I hear Lily called." She tried hard to keep her voice as casual as possible.

"She did." Serena smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.  
"How is she doing?" Blair asked, still struggling with her voice. "Is she back from Ibiza?"

"She is," Serena nodded, "and she's having a guilty conscience." Her mouth twitched a little. "Especially since Eric returned from Camp Suisse and his Geneva trip with Aunt Carol and Charlie in a foul mood."

Blair frowned. Being an only child, she had always considered Eric her little brother as much as Serena's. "Why?"

"He wouldn't tell me, but he promised to come here tomorrow." Serena smiled for real this time. "I wouldn't be too surprised if Mom came, too," she added.

It was Blair's turn to smile. "That wouldn't be too bad." She put her hand over Serena's. "The three of you need some time together."

"I'm just glad Grandma won't be here," Serena said. "The two of them under the same roof..." She looked at Blair and they exchanged knowing grins.

"Not the best idea." Blair shook her head.

"My grandfather hates my dad's guts," Nate offered after a brief silence, helping himself to some mineral water. "I remember, at the 1998 Egg Roll..." He went on to tell an anecdote which included his grandfather, his parents and President Clinton.

When everybody declined dessert, Serena announced, "And now, back to the hot tub." "I think I'm just going to lounge by the pool," Blair told her, "read a bit more." "Actually," Chuck said, "I think I'll join you."

Blair's blood reached the boiling point. He was the last thing she needed if she was going to spend a cozy afternoon. She only shrugged flippantly, though, before she left Serena and Nate behind, with Chuck on her heels.

She quickly shimmied out of her dress and then busied herself with detaching the slip from the actual dress, not wanting to be privy to Chuck unbuttoning his shirt... or his shorts. She wanted to slap herself when she felt a pang of disappointment upon realizing that he intended to remain fully clothed. She threw herself onto her lounger and opened her book.

"What are you reading?" Chuck asked, not sounding totally uninterested.

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She turned the cover towards him for a second. She wasn't in the mood to talk.

"_Pride and Prejudice_?" Although she couldn't see him, she could tell he was smirking. "That Darcy is an idiot – to insist so much on marrying a girl just because he wants to get into her pants..."

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Blair felt all her pent-up anger towards him resurface again when he insulted one of the most perfect men in literature. "As if you've actually read the book," she derided.

"You're right, I haven't," Chuck conceded. "But my mother has watched the mini-series a thousand times."

Blair's eyes widened. Did he... _watch movies with his mother_? Well, that certainly was unexpected, if it was true.

"And I can tell you one thing about your precious Mr. Darcy," he said. "He's a pompous ass." Her lips quirked. "You mean, like yourself?" she shot back.

"Well, Lizzie Waldorf," he sent her another one of his lazy smiles, which might have had a strange effect on her heart rate, "let's see: you like Mr. Darcy and you think he is just like me. Could that mean that you like _me_?"

For a split second, she literally gaped at his audacity. Then she rolled over onto her stomach, pronouncing a scathing, "You wish."

His only response was laughter.

She tuned him out and returned dutifully to Lizzie and Darcy. Now Darcy wanted to dance with Lizzie, but she refused, repaying him for the last ball, when he had insulted her. Like Chuck had insulted _her_. Various times. But he had also invited her to dance. That had to mean he liked her. She remembered how he had looked at her thighs. And how he had touched her collarbone. How his hands had felt on her when they had been dancing...

She woke up to a muffled sigh. She quickly became aware of two things – one: someone's warm hands were slowly massaging something tepid into her back, and two: _her _sigh had been muffled by the book she had been sleeping on. She hesitated for a moment. The hands felt good on her skin and were doing wonders for the tension she had been feeling around her lumbar spine. She was aware that she _had _to react, though, as she knew exactly whose hands were on her body, and in the lumbar area, no less.

She jerked up a little, in an attempt to make it clear to him that she was awake, and that he was caught red-handed, and to be closer to a sitting position. Chuck only put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back into the towel.

"Relax," he said and his low voice sent shivers down her spine, "I'm not going to ravish you or something in this heat."

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She trembled at his use of the word "ravish," but she hoped that he hadn't caught that because he'd been busy squeezing out more sunscreen lotion. "Well," she noticed, panicky, that her voice was slightly lower than usual as well, and made a conscious effort to make it neutral, "you're already kind of doing that, don't you think?"

"If you think this is ravishing," he whispered, his mouth suddenly very close to her back, "you have no idea what you should expect."

She stifled a sigh. "I have a clear idea what _you _should expect, though - a lawsuit for battery."  
"I think you really should brush up your legal vocabulary. It's hardly battery if it's consensual."  
She felt his breath on her spine and damned him a hundred times for the things he was doing to her. "And, as of right now, I can feel your nice little body consenting."

Oh yes, she would consent to anything, as long as he kept on making her feel like this. But there was no need for him to know that. He was the Basstard and she couldn't... She waited for a few seconds, until she was fairly certain she wouldn't choke up.

"While my body is still half-asleep, my mind is completely awake. You are disgusting and I hate you," she informed him, matter-of-factly.

He was definitely too close now, his nose brushing against her hair, but she was unable to move. "Then why are you still letting me touch you?" he whispered.

She shot upwards, her head miraculously missing his nose. She was kind of sorry it had missed it, though – he deserved some physical pain after what he'd put her through.

"Like I said," he eased his frame onto his lounger, unperturbed by her glaring, "relax, Waldorf. I was just worried you might get sunburns. You were getting a little red."

She looked down, her hair forming a curtain around her face, and smoothed an imaginary crease out of her neatly folded dress. In truth, she was hiding the soft blush that crept onto her face at the thought that he had been watching her, her "nice little body," while she was sleeping

"You might want to get your legs covered, too," he suggested. "And insured," she thought she heard him add more quietly.

"I'll manage," she said, in a remarkably impassive tone.  
He shrugged. "Suit yourself."  
She grabbed the bottle from the table and slathered the lotion all over her legs in a few quick moves. "Thank you," she said, a bit bashfully, and then felt even more bashful because of that bashfulness. "My pleasure."

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Unfortunately, she knew the perv had meant it. And even more unfortunately, she was sort of flattered.

Fortunately, she didn't have time to ponder about what that might mean as a giggling Serena emerged from behind the corner of the house. She was followed by Nate, in his emerald-colored swimming trunks. Blair wondered idly why he wore so much emerald – did he know how good it looked on him, or was his mother still buying him clothes?

"I've got some news for you." Serena plopped down next to Blair. "Nate's mom called. She thought Grandma was still here. It turns out..." She looked at Nate apologetically. "I'm sorry I laughed, Nate, I'm just happy you're gonna be staying here."

Nate was the one who reacted to Blair's and Chuck's identical frowns of confusion. "Turns out a pipe burst this morning, while Mom was out, gardening. The ground floor is more or less flooded and Mom wants us to stay at CeCe's... Serena's for the rest of the week," he explained. "I told her you were planning to go back to the city anyway, so-"

"In fact, I think I'd like to stay." Chuck ignored the three pairs of incredulous eyes. Then he turned to Serena with a silent question.

She quickly resumed her role of perfect hostess. "Of course, Chuck. You can stay as long as you like."

During dinner, Serena planned a movie night in the living room, as nobody felt like going out. Blair excused herself in advance. She didn't want to be a third wheel or a witness to a two blonds' make-out session. Chuck said he had a headache and would retire to his room. Blair suspected he'd done that for the same reason she had, and for the same reason he'd spent the afternoon by the pool with her – to give Serena and Nate some space.

As she watched Serena laugh over another idiotic joke of Nate's and use the pads of her fingers instead of a napkin on the corner of his mouth, all of a sudden she was feeling very tired of everything and she just wanted to lie down, go through the events of the day and fall asleep. Or better yet – not to go through the events of the day and fall asleep. She wished a pleasant evening and a good night to everybody and headed to her room.

As soon as she entered, she flicked on the floor lamp and grabbed the AC remote. The evening was significantly hotter than a few previous ones and the room was stifling. However, the remote didn't do anything. The AC display remained black. She sighed. She didn't feel like going back to the dining room or finding the housekeeper. She yanked open the French door which led to her balcony and she left the door leading into the hall ajar.

She took the TV remote from the shelf and lay down on the bed. If she would have to wait for the room to cool down a bit, she may as well watch a movie. She found TCM, but turned the TV off when she recognized _Rebecca_. Although Rebecca was twisted, the new Mrs. de Winters was a pitiful, stupid creature.

Tossing the remote aside, Blair closed her eyes. She was trying to recall her every conversation with Chuck, and she didn't even have the strength to pretend she didn't want to do that.

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"Bette Davis eyes," she murmured as an idea formed in her head. She jumped from the bed and dug her iPod out of a drawer.

Having downloaded the song, she pressed "play," anxious with anticipation. The longer she listened, the deeper she blushed. The song was about... well, a woman who knew how to give men what they wanted. Why did _she _remind him of it? She wondered if she – apart from the Harlow blonde hair, because that obviously was Serena – could possibly look like an incredibly sexy, playful tease. She went over her always-expanding laundry list of her shortcomings on auto pilot. For the first time she realized that nothing on it had to matter; not the chubby thumbs, not the single stretch mark, not badly placed pigmentation. She _could be it_. She _was it_. She was her. She was sexy and she was playful. She was _incredible_.

She stood up and began to dance slowly, singing the lyrics in her head. She undulated to the music and she wondered if this was how the Moulin Rouge dancers felt – completely free and oh so deliciously sensual. She had never done anything similar to striptease. Maybe now was the time. Still holding her iPod, she reached for her headband with her free hand. One swift movement and the piece of lilac silk disappeared to the balcony. She swayed her hips some more, slowly, before she ran her fingers up her thigh and to the studs that kept her dress closed. She pulled them open. She wiggled her shoulders a bit. The dress fell to the ground. She stepped out of it gracefully. Running her hand along the strap of her slip, she half-turned to look over her shoulder. She froze in place, her heart skipping more than a beat, when she met a pair of dark eyes watching her closely.

"Chuck!" His name was supposed to be an indignant exclamation, but it came out as a breathless whisper. Inexplicably, she found herself moving towards him instead of the opposite way. She was surprised when he didn't smirk. Her composure willed into mending itself, she asked testily, "How long have you been here?"

"Not nearly long enough." The huskiness in his voice sent shivers up and down her spine. He reached out and took a strap of her slip between his fingers. "Why don't I help you with this?"

She wanted to say something sharp and witty, but her voice caught in her throat. The spot on her shoulder that he had touched was burning, and the fire was spreading through her entire body. She knew she should pull away and slam the door in his face. She didn't want to do that. What she wanted was for him to get closer.

He did. It was like slow-motion. He was standing right in front of her and she couldn't bear looking into his darkened eyes any longer, yet she couldn't look away. His right hand still on the strap of her slip, his left hand moved to her neck, pulling her closer. Uncharacteristically weak and mellow, she melted into his touch. She closed her eyes, her lips parted slightly and-

"Chuck!" Nate hollered as he took two stairs at once.

Blair could see the top of Serena's head behind him and knew this wasn't going to end well. Chuck let go of her and was now looking at Nate, his lips a tight line.

"The housekeeper just told us...," Nate began as he reached Blair's room, but he shut up as he took the situation in. His eyes rounded as they traveled from Chuck to Blair and back.

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"Nathaniel?"

"She had to put you in a different room," Serena, who had just reached them, answered instead of Nate.

"Yes," Chuck said coolly, "I've noticed. I was headed downstairs to ask if you knew where my things were when I ran into Blair."

Blair nodded, enduring Serena's suspicious gaze stoically.

"Well, your new room is opposite your old one," Serena said. "Nate and you can check it out. I'd like a word with Blair."

Blair suppressed the need to roll her eyes. She was _so _not in the mood for another Chuck-is-evil talk with Serena. She glanced at Chuck, who was avoiding looking at her. For some reason, that upset her more than ogling or smirking would have. He followed Nate down the corridor.

Serena entered Blair's room and perched herself on her bed. Blair rolled her eyes this time. She closed the door and came to stand in front of her friend. She knew there was no chance she would leave until her mind was at ease. Blair folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows, waiting for her to talk first.

"B," Serena started, "I don't know how to say this... I know you like romantic movies and romantic books, and I'm just afraid that you can get carried away a bit." She ignored Blair's once-again-rolling eyes. "You know that the only good bad romance is the one that used to top the Billboard, right?" She cracked a small, hopeful smile.

"Serena," Blair sighed, "when Lady Gaga – whose fashion sense I do not really appreciate, btw – said, 'I want your disease.' she didn't mean, 'I want your STD.'" She sat beside Serena. "I've researched Chuck Bass and I wouldn't stoop so low as to let him touch me." She was very glad the room was so dimly lit that Serena was buying her fake smile.

Serena hugged her. Blair felt a twinge of guilt at lying to her best friend. But how could she admit to her that she had not only let Chuck Bass touch her, but that she had wanted him to? And that, although she knew she should be grateful their kiss had been thwarted, she was still aching with want?

"Are you sure, B?"  
To her luck, Blair didn't have to answer. There was a knock on the door and she didn't waste time. "Come in," she called.

The door opened and Nate's face showed up. "Sorry, I just wanted to see if you wanted to continue the movie," he said to Serena. He seemed more sheepish than ever. "Chuck's going out after all," he added.

Blair smiled at Serena, but not too widely, for fear her face would crack. "Sure she wants to continue the movie." She pushed the other girl off the bed. Serena kept looking at her pointedly, though, so she

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nodded. "Sure," she answered her previous question.

Dragging her feet a little, Serena followed Nate out of the room. Blair sat motionless. After a few minutes, she heard another pair of footsteps descending the stairs. She remained still. She guessed he was going out to finish with someone else what he had started with her. She was disgusted and... not happy. But what could she do? Run after him and tell him, "Don't have sex with somebody else tonight! Have sex with me tonight even though I'm a blushing virgin! And then we'll pretend it never happened and I'll have my perfect first time with someone nice, someone I will love." She smiled dryly as her head hit her pillow. This... the way he could make her feel was dangerous. She had to avoid him these few remaining days in the Hamptons. It would be easier once they were back in the city.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Toxic**

_You're dangerous, I'm loving it. _

"You may open your yogurts, girls," Blair intoned majestically from her position on the highest step leading to the Met.

Kati, Iz, Penelope and Hazel hurried to remove the lids from their cups of low-fat dairy. None of them had probably had anything to eat since the previous evening and it was already past noon. Having slowly peeled the foil off her yogurt, Blair tapped her fingers against the thick scarlet folder on her lap. Then she glowered at Penelope, who had watched the action with curious eyes.

"Penelope," she said as she gave her disobedient minion a stilted smile, "please do try to remember that you're still on probation because of all those townies."

The girl's lips twitched, but she nodded.

"And don't think," continued Blair, "I haven't noticed that that Isabel Marant is last season." She slipped a spoon of her cherry-flavored yogurt into her mouth, relishing more in Penelope's humiliation than in her meager lunch.

Penelope, who had turned the exact shade of deep red as her extra-wide Jennifer Ouellette headband, was now looking down at her offensive steel-blue blazer. Kati and Iz, in their identical uniforms, sniggered. Hazel seemed like she wanted the earth to swallow her. She was wearing last year's Bloch flats.

As she didn't have to worry about one of her minions trying to undermine her authority on the very first day of school any longer, Blair's eyes wandered to the cause of her earlier impatience. There, not twenty feet away, was Serena. The same Serena who was supposed to be having lunch with her and the girls right now. Yet, she seemed completely unruffled by the fact that she had stood her best friend up to talk with Nate, Whoregina, Baizen and the Basstard. And while Blair was grateful that she had avoided a face-off with the Queen of Darkness, who would undoubtedly have tagged along – even though Baizen was there – just to spite her, she simply could not condone Serena's behavior.

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Serena flipped her golden mane over her shoulder and said something. Everybody laughed and Nate kissed the top of her head. Georgina latched onto Carter's arm, making him squirm a little. Then Serena said something else and glanced Blair's way. Whoregina and Bass followed suit. Before Blair managed to look away, Chuck's eyes captured hers and he half-smiled. She didn't know if she smiled back. All she was aware of was her blood humming in her ears to the loud staccato her heart was playing.

It was ridiculous, really. She was _so _over her shameful non-crush on Chuck Bass. She had been avoiding him like the plague throughout their last three days in the Hamptons. Not that that was difficult. Apparently, he was avoiding her, as well. He had probably concluded that she wasn't tempting quite enough, or that she wouldn't be good. Well, the latter was bound to be true, considering her non-existent experience... Be as it may, she spent those days with a reticent and surly Eric and an overly talkative and motherly Lily. Serena and Nate were all over each other, and Chuck was always on the beach or at a club.

Sometimes, during those few days in the Hamptons, when she was about to fall asleep, she would let herself weave silly little stories (almost novels, if she was honest) or envision movies about what would have happened if their best friends hadn't intercepted their first kiss. Or if they had continued their... whatever that had been (and, according to several women's magazines and forums she had consulted since, it could easily qualify as... foreplay) by the pool. As chagrined as she was at that, the truth was that the vast majority of those movies she wouldn't be allowed to see in the theater for another two and a half months.

Fortunately, her Basstard cravings had been cured at Luke Goodred's back-to-school party two nights earlier. The Basstard didn't attend. But Jeremy did. And he was more than buzzed. Which meant that he wouldn't remember the following day (or that his word wouldn't hold much weight, at least). So she downed two shots and pulled him into the butler's pantry, which supposedly was off limits (and it did turn out to be out of Gossip Girl's reach, as they weren't spotted). She allowed him to pry her mouth open with his tongue and to grope her Valentino-clad ass with his clumsy, sticky hands. When he reached for her zipper, she slapped his hand away pretty gently and told him to wait there. Then she went home.

She was feeling better after having released some of that accumulated sexual frustration. The entire experience had been lacking, but that didn't really matter. The important thing was that she _was _feeling better, which proved her point – her attraction to Bass had been a product of her being utterly chaste the entire summer. She could accept the awful tru- thought that she had had a crush on the Basstard. Surely, almost every UES girl in her age bracket had had it at one point or another (if Gossip Girl had a clue what she was talking about, and she usually did). And, although Blair despised being one of them, she could live with the fact that she had been blindsided by Bass for a handful of moments. What was important was that she had already moved on from that pesky infatuation.

The question was, then: why did she still want to kiss him – either once, softly, or multiple times, until he had to gasp for air; preferably both ways? Then again, some questions were better left unanswered. And Blair was nothing if not a master of sweeping unseemly issues under the fluffy rug of her fairytale life. Today she even had Gossip Girl on her side – as their phones rang simultaneously, both she and Chuck looked away.

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_Bon appétit, Upper East Siders!  
Did somebody order dessert? Thought so. Here it is. _

_Constance Billard/St. Jude's petits fours first! Spotted: Serena and Georgie chatting with Chuck, Nate and Carter. Aw, isn't that sweet? Makes one nostalgic for this (in)glorious fivesome whose anthem could have been "Youth Gone Wild." (Well, except for N – he was always more of a youth- gone-catatonic specimen. And, no, I won't tell you why I know an old hair-metal song.) Anyhow, the word is on the street – or in the UES penthouses, rather – that it's true "Park Avenue leads to skid row," at least for Carter. It seems Daddy Baizen isn't overjoyed with his heir leaving one of the finest institutions of higher education in the country after only two years. (I, however, am surprised that he lasted that long.) And what about Chuck? Well, technically, the Palace is on Madison. Besides, it seems Daddy Bass has forgiven whichever transgression made him ship C off to Europe. _

_Spotted next: Blair and her posse having their usual one-hundred calories lunch on the Met steps. It looks like the first junior Queen of Constance is ruling her kingdom with an iron fist. That doesn't bring her too much joy, though, or so it seems. Why so pensive, B? Is it because S snubbed your royal luncheon in favor of her old new friends? Or because you're plotting how to make the only available male member of S's group your king, or at least a knight who'll keep your bed warm? 'Cause we all know Chuck Bass doesn't do girlfriends. Except for somebody else's, that is. _

_Chapin macarons next!... _

Blair thrust her phone into her satchel. She couldn't care less about bitches from Chapin when Gossip Girl had a photo of her with that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look and insinuated so many insulting things, the least bad being her best friend choosing a bunch of academic nonachievers over her. Not that Gossip Girl had a clue what she was talking about. That much was obvious from her calling Yale one of the best universities in the country. Yale was the best university in the world, period.

"Hey, B," Serena walked up to her and the girls, "seems you have a lot of yogurt left." She smiled widely, situating herself next to Blair.

Blair bit her tongue. "See you in chem, girls, Penelope," she said coolly. The dismissed minions packed their things and vacated their spots.

Looking at the girls' retreating backs, Blair spoke up. "S, could you do me a favor?" She presumed that Serena nodded as she didn't say anything. "Move down a couple of steps."

The blonde gaped, but then slid to the step below her wordlessly and fished a yogurt from her gray Be&D tote.

"You understand, don't you?" Blair said. "I can't have my authority questioned this early."

"Of course this has everything to do with you maintaining your queen bee status and nothing with you punishing me for that Gossip Girl blast." Serena sounded a bit peeved. Who cared?

"When we're at it," Blair dug her spoon into her yogurt, "what does Gossip Girl mean when she puts

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you into some kind of a fivesome with _them_?"  
"Georgie and I hung out with the boys a couple of times a long time ago."

"And that's it?" Blair didn't like the fact that Serena was still looking at her gorgeous Yves Saint Laurent black leather ballerinas.

"That's it." Serena nodded.

"So, what were you doing with them up to two minutes ago?"

"Nothing special," Serena smiled, "just making some plans for tonight with one of them."

Blair raised her eyebrows.

"In fact, I was just going to ask you if you'd join us."

"Thanks for the invite, S," Blair said, "but I think you and Nate should go out on your own."

The corners of Serena's mouth lifted in a little half-smile. "Oh, but I'm not going out with Nate. I'm going to Butter with Georgie."

"S!" Blair felt her own eyes pop out like in old cartoons. "You and Nate have been together for five days and you're already going to Butter with someone else instead of spending the evening with him? Besides, Georgina Sparks is-"

"Look, B," Serena cut her off, "I appreciate your concern, but Georgie is my friend. I have to go to class now." She shoved her unopened yogurt into her bag and got up. "And as for Nate, distance makes the heart grow fonder."

She bounced down the stairs, her blonde hair waving wildly behind her.  
"Well, let's test that theory," Blair told to her back, loudly. "Don't call me. Or text me!"  
She jutted her lip forward, her fingers deforming the plastic cup containing the remains of her meal. "I love it when you're being feisty."

She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and opening them again, as Chuck Bass sat so close that their navy blazers were touching. Before she had met him and his double entendres, she had had a vague idea of what Dorota's books meant by the phrase "bedroom voice." Now she knew that was the voice which made her want to lock him up in her bedroom and pounce on him. The voice which _used to _make her want to do that, she mentally corrected herself.

"I love it when you're not talking to me." She twisted her lips into a frown of disdain.  
"Actually," he placed a hand on her knee, "I'd prefer it if we didn't talk, too."  
She sprung to her feet, battling that weird, hot, jittery feeling. She had told Dorota she needed thicker

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tights.  
"Don't touch me, Bass!" she barked out.

"As far as I can remember," he drawled, unfazed, "you were ready and willing not so long ago, Waldorf."

Her eyes narrowed. "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Want me to refresh your memory?" he offered.

She smacked his hand away before it could reach her whimsical blue Tarina Tarantino headband which went perfectly with her ruffled-collar white shirt. "Don't you dare touch me!" she warned him through clenched teeth. "I might have had a momentary lapse of judgment. The day was too hot and I wasn't thinking."

"The day was too hot," he pressed, "or I was too hot?"

"Bass," she rolled her eyes at him after a moment of disbelief, "you really think you're God's gift to women, don't you?"

"Not really." He put his hands into the pockets of his cream-colored slacks, still looking at her intently. "I think women are God's gifts to me."

She pursed her lips. "Never have I met a more self-complacent bastard." "Thank you." He smirked at her assessment.

She just shook her head and strode back to school. She smoothed the A-line of her black Valentino skirt along the way, feeling his eyes on her. Never had she met a bastard (or a non-bastard) whose St. Jude's uniform fitted better, either. But that was beside the point.

In front of the chemistry classroom, she bumped into Penelope.

"I've been looking for you," the older girl smiled self-satisfyingly. "It occurred to me who can do custom, handwritten invites for your Indian Summer party!"

"Later," Blair almost snapped, walking past her. She was in no mood for Penelope's brown-nosing, especially when she was four minutes late to class, and on the first day of classes.

"Jenny Humphrey, she's a freshman!" Penelope all but yelled in a voice full of hope as Blair entered the classroom.

When she was sure that – totally uncharacteristically – Mr. Pizer was nowhere to be seen, Blair thanked the powers that be and plopped onto the seat Serena had saved her.

"Mr. Pizer is late," Serena stated the obvious.

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"Yes, I can see that." Blair took a Paperblanks notebook and silver Tiffany pen out of her bag. There was a brief silence before she spoke up again. "Look, S, I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I just want you to have a perfect relationship with Nate." She gave her friend a tentative smile.

Serena returned it. "I know, B, and I may have overreacted. It's just that I'm tired of everybody trying to tell me what to do – Mom, Grandma, Nate... Nate and I won't fall apart because I'm having a girls' night out. He has to know I'm not abandoning my friends because of him."

"Well," Blair told her, "you're going out with one friend only tonight. I'm not in the mood for Georgina." She forced herself to restrain her tongue and not delve into an I-hate-Whoregina-Sparks rant.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Pizer's clipped voice intervened before Serena could say anything in response.

As the little man started to drone about what they had learned last year and what they were going to focus on this year, Blair opened her scarlet folder. She flipped a few sheets and, sure enough, there Jenny Humphrey was. She was one of the projects her minions had ranked high. That meant she had a lot of potential to be trained properly either into a future Queen or into a high-ranking minion. Considering that Jenny was from Brooklyn, though, she would be lucky to become an ordinary minion next year and remain one for the rest of her Constance days. Nevertheless, according to her file, she excelled in calligraphy and – as that was the quality she needed at the moment – Blair would have a chat with the little Humphrey later and decide whether she was good minion material or not.

Kati and Iz found the girl drawing at a table in the courtyard before the last period. Since Blair was going home, having decided to skip gym, she simply paused in front of Jenny's table, her faithful minions in tow.

"Jenny Humphrey," she addressed the little blonde girl, "I have been told you can do handwritten invitations for my party."

Jenny straightened the pink headband perched on top of her curls. "Yes, I'd like to do them. They would be really elegant," she said confidently, but smiled shyly.

"Good." Blair nodded. "Bring a sample tomorrow." "Thank you, Blair," Jenny said as she turned to leave.

Right then, a lanky dark-haired guy appeared, waving a sandwich. He yelled, "Jen!", stumbled on a fallen brunch, lost his balance and grabbed Blair's shiny Valentino satchel in an attempt to steady himself.

Blair jumped back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  
She looked down at her bag in horror. It had his greasy fingerprints all over it!

"Dan!" Jenny shrieked as she pulled a Kleenex from her bag. "You could have ruined Blair's Bon Bon!"

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She frowned at the boy as she wiped the stains off Blair's red bag. She snatched the tuna fish sandwich from him and tossed it into the trashcan along with the used tissue.

"Hey," he protested, "I thought you were hungry!"

Jenny ignored him as she glanced at Queen B nervously.

"Not bad, Little Jenny, not bad," Blair said approvingly.

"I love Valentino," Jenny gushed. "Your bag is divine!"

"Yours is nice," Blair offered magnanimously, "although it is _vintage_."

Jenny looked down. "Thank you."

"Jenny," the guy started again, but no other sound came out of his open mouth as Serena glided to them in her way-too-short gray skirt, grinning.

"Hey, B," she said, "I thought I'd skip gym, too." Then it seemed that the still somewhat tense atmosphere sank in, as she asked, "What did I walk into?"

"Nothing," Blair waved her hand, "this guy just tried to ruin my new bag, is all." She glared at him, only to be disappointed by his lack of reaction.

He was looking either at the ground or at his shoelaces, and he fiddled with the end of his chestnut tie with diagonal stripes, a telltale clue of his school.

"I'm really sorry, Blair," Jenny hurried, "that's my brother, Dan. He's a junior at St. Jude's." Dan, Dan, Dan... Both the name and the face were vaguely familiar. Then it all clicked.

"Of course," Blair laughed, "Dan Humphrey! He's the guy who followed S around for two weeks last year. He was too afraid to tell her he'd found her phone in the yard." She laughed half heartily, half scornfully again. She enjoyed the nice shade of red Dan's face seemed to be turning into.

"Let's go, B," Serena, always so nice, pulled her by the arm. "Okay, okay," she mumbled.

As she was walking away from Jenny Humphrey and her awkward brother, she heard Serena add more quietly, "I'm sorry, Dan."

Then her phone beeped and she opened a new text.

_I love it when you're being bitchy. Poor Brooklyn didn't stand a chance. _

She felt her face turn the same shade of red that Dan's had been. She should have guessed Bass had been lurking somewhere in the yard, eying his next prey. Which, most definitely, wouldn't be her.

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_How did you get my number?  
Does it matter? What's important is that I wanted your number. And I always get what I want. Could you be any more arrogant? _she texted back.  
_Would you like me any other way?  
_She turned her phone off, puffing in annoyance. Really, the liberties this guy allowed himself!

The next few days Blair mostly spent planning her extracurriculars in depth and reworking her SAT prep schedule. From time to time, she would spot Bass in the corners – smoking pot and/or groping skanks.

Like now, for example. One of his hands was holding a joint (how she hoped the headmaster would catch him with it!) and the other one was on L'Wren (such a slutty name!) Knowes's ass. Oh, was she ever glad that her disgusting miniscule crush on him was a thing of the past!

She averted her eyes from the vulgar couple in contempt, and faced Kati and Iz. "Okay, girls, get Little J additional stationery and whatever else she needs. Tell her I expect all the invites to be ready by Monday."

The girls got up from the table and scurried across the yard in search of Jenny Humphrey. As usual, the only difference in their outfits was the color of one of the things they were wearing. Today, it was the headbands – Kati was wearing a vermillion and Iz a lime-green one. That reminded Blair of how almost a decade ago she had often wondered which girl was Kati and which one was Iz.

It didn't take long before she lost any interest in Kati, Iz and rehashing the past, though, so Blair slung her black Kate Spade on her shoulder. She was intent on finding Serena, who should have told goodbye to Nate and left him at the mercy of his lacrosse coach almost ten minutes ago. They were going to have a girls' afternoon at the Waldorfs' penthouse.

She made a couple of steps and then sighed when she realized that the shortest route to the locker rooms went by the Basstard and L'Wren. She considered circling the school building just to not have to pass them, but her jaw soon set in determination. Who the hell were they to make her take a roundabout? She straightened her shoulders and focused on the top of a tree in the distance. In her peripheral vision, though, she could see L'Wren talking on the phone. Great! Now she wasn't even keeping him busy. Blair had no illusions she'd be spared an unsavory comment as she walked by him.

Of course she was right.  
He spoke a bit faster than usual, "Nice tights, Waldorf."  
As if she'd wear something that wasn't nice. 'Just keep looking at the tree,' she chanted.

"But I'm a big fan of the red ones," he said, only two feet away. "Is there any chance you'd wear them tomorrow, for me?"

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Were she white trash, she'd probably give him the finger. As she, (un)fortunately, wasn't, she settled for continuing to not acknowledge him at all.

"You know you want to!" he said to her back, his voice getting mixed with L'Wren's unintelligible mumbling.

Blair's nails dug into the leather handle of her bag. His audacity was outrageous! But it shouldn't be affecting her at all. He shouldn't be affecting her at all. She _had had _a crush on him. So what? She had had crushes on several guys. The only difference was that those guys weren't insolent pigs who'd taunt her every chance they got. She sighed in relief when she saw a mass of blonde hair swirling towards her.

"B!" Serena's grin froze. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she hurried, "I know I'm late, it's just-"

"It's okay, Serena," Blair said impatiently.

Serena's brow furrowed lightly. "What's with the scowl, then?"

Blair's hands flew to her forehead and started to rub little circles into it. "Oh God, I wasn't scowling hard, was I?" She was going to need Botox before she turned twenty if she kept on frowning so much.

"A little." Serena obviously treaded the potential minefield with extreme caution.

"Damn him!" Blair ground the words through her teeth.

Serena's eyebrows shot up. "Damn who?"

"Mr. Pizer," Blair lied smoothly. "Didn't you see what he wants us to do for next week?" she began a rant about homework. It kind of helped.

"Serena," she asked half an hour later, her face partially hidden by a pillow, "do guys notice what you're wearing?"

The blonde helped herself to another chocolate from the box laying between them on Blair's midnight-blue silk comforter. "Nate doesn't."

When she didn't elaborate, Blair nudged her. "Okay, Nate's always high, he doesn't count. What about other guys?"

"I don't think they do," Serena offered, glossing over the Nate remark. "They do notice you look nice, but they have no idea whether you're wearing Alexander McQueen or Abercrombie. And the next day they don't even remember if you wore a skirt or jeans."

"But they _do _remember the colors?"  
Serena cocked her head at her. "What's with all the questions, B?" "I'm just curious, that's all," Blair said nonchalantly.

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"Are you worried about Jeremy?" Serena asked as she twirled a chocolate between her fingers. "Because he does notice or because he doesn't?"

"Yes," Blair was drawing patterns on a decorative pillow with her fingertips. "He noticed the color of something I'd worn and he asked me to wear it again."

Serena cackled and almost chocked on her chocolate. Served her right. Nothing was funny.

"Oh, B," she said when she finally caught her breath. "Why are you worried then? That just means he thinks you're rrrreal," she purred and Blair rolled her eyes, "sexy in it. He probably thinks about it at night when he's all alone..." Serena sing-sang.

Blair threw the pillow at her gigantic grin. Then she stuffed a chocolate into her mouth, to hide the coy smile which was appearing. It wasn't that she hadn't already known that Chuck had... well, certain thoughts about her. His sleazy comments and texts hadn't left much to imagination. It still felt good to have somebody else confirm it. The only problem was that it wasn't supposed to feel good. She wasn't supposed to as much as think about him. And she was supposed to be grossed out by what Serena was implying. Not that he was actually alone at night.

"So, what was it?" Serena interrupted her train of thought, throwing the pillow back at her.

"Oh, just something I wore in the Hamptons," she lied half-heartedly, hoping that her friend wasn't aware of the fact that she'd exchanged a grand total of four words with Jeremy since school started over a week ago. "Of course I can't wear that again because it's not appropriate for school."

Serena nodded as she swallowed yet another chocolate. Blair fought the urge to take one more herself. She sighed. Why couldn't she have Godzilla's appetite and Tinkerbell's waist?

"Okay," she said more loudly, "change of topic! Have you managed to find out what's eating E?"

Serena's face fell. "No. He keeps on insisting everything's fine, but I can see it isn't. I don't know how to make him open up to me."

Blair knew exactly what she meant. She herself had been surprised when she could barely make Eric talk at all in the Hamptons. He had always been a mini-Serena, bubbly and chatty. Maybe more Blair-like sarcastic, and maybe a tad more insightful, however. "Any luck with Charlie?" she asked.

"Not really." Serena shook her head. "She says he's been like that ever since she and Aunt Carol picked him up from Camp Suisse."

"At first I thought it was about Mom," she added helplessly, "although this definitely wasn't the first summer she'd spent partying on the other side of the world. Maybe it's because he's in high school now."

Blair nodded. "Maybe we should give him a little more time," she suggested in a soft voice. "He'll tell us eventually."

"I hope so," Serena said, looking down at the empty box of chocolates, her voice unusually small.

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Not knowing what to do, Blair pulled a magazine from her nightstand. "And now," she said cheerily, "to work!"

Serena looked up at the object in her hand and grinned. "We're so late!"

Three hours into their dissection of the September issue of _Vogue_, Eleanor Waldorf peeked into her daughter's room.

"Eleanor!" Serena spoke before anyone else could. "The dress on page sixty-four is phenomenal! I remember it from the show. I just don't think they should have accessorized it with that Marc Jacobs belt."

"You and I both," Eleanor said dryly. Then her face lit up – as much as her Botoxed face could lit up. "But thank you, Serena, dear. I think it would look absolutely fabulous on you. You should stop by the atelier and we'll have it fitted."

The two shared a smile.

"Blair, honey, you really shouldn't pout that much," Eleanor said as she looked at her daughter. "It stops being cute when you're past the age of three and it only facilitates wrinkles."

Blair smoothed her face into an impassive mask. How typical of her mother not to remember she wouldn't let her wear that very same dress because it "didn't compliment her complexion."

"Come downstairs, girls," Eleanor continued, looking at Serena again. "Dorota has served dinner."

"Oh!" Serena jumped off the bed and grabbed her phone. "Is it that late?" She frowned when she saw it indeed was. "I'm sorry, Eleanor, but I have to go." She pecked Blair's cheek. "I'm meeting Georgie at 1OAK in an hour."

"See you at school," she added before Blair could say anything and she was out the door in a second. "What was _that_?" Eleanor frowned.

Blair smiled slyly as she followed her mother down the stairs. "Oh, you know Serena, always so disorganized."

As they were plowing through unseasoned rice with vegetables – about as low-calorie a dinner as you can get, Eleanor asked, "Why didn't you go out with Serena?"

"I thought you didn't like me going out on school nights." Blair was looking at her plate, trying to catch a strip of a red pepper with her chopsticks.

Eleanor half-smiled. "Blair, I may be spending a lot of time in Paris, but Dorota can't cover for you all the time. Do you want me to enumerate all the times I called home on a school night and you couldn't talk to me? Because you weren't there?"

Blair was tempted to challenge her to do so because she was one hundred percent sure she would not

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be able to list more than two or three occasions. Partly because Eleanor did not call often, and partly because she did stay in on most school nights. "I don't like Georgina Sparks," she offered instead.

Her mother sighed and put her chopsticks down. "Blair, in this world, or any world, you cannot associate only with people you like."

"I know, Mother," the emotionless, well-practiced response came automatically.

"The Sparkses are influential, darling. In a few years, you might need a favor from their daughter."

Blair chose not to verbalize that she would rather be caught in Hollister by Gossip Girl _and _die a horrible death than plead with Whoregina Sparks. She stuffed her mouth with rice and remained silent.

Eleanor didn't speak again, either, until dessert; that is, until Blair smiled, enjoying the sound of her spoon breaking the top of her crème brûlée.

"You might want to skip it tonight, dear," she told her. "We're going to dinner tomorrow."

At this, Blair perked up, the initial irritation subsiding. "To Gramercy Tavern?" she asked hopefully. No matter how good Dorota's crème brûlée might be, theirs was a thousand times better.

"No," her mother replied curtly. "To Bart Bass's."  
It was like she poured cold water on her. "Why?" she managed.  
"He wants to redecorate the Palace," Eleanor explained, "and he wants me to do it."  
"Like Diane and Claridge's."  
Eleanor pressed her lips into a line before she said, "I suppose you could say so."  
"But," Blair started and was swiftly interrupted.  
"The latest ready-to-wear hasn't been selling as expected, Blair. I need all the exposure I can get."

"You shouldn't worry that much, Mother," Blair said, struggling to find the right amount of gentleness – too much and Eleanor would perceive it as pity; that was something she had inherited from her. "It's still too early."

Her eyes bored holes into her mother until she finally looked up at her. She smiled hesitantly and Eleanor returned the smile.

"Anyway, Mother, what I wanted to say was that you could go alone to that dinner. You don't need me for a business meeting."

Eleanor shook her head. "Bart wants a family dinner." "But why?" Her voice went up a notch.

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"I don't know and I don't care." Her mother's steeliness returned in full force. Blair panicked. "Can't I be excused?"

Her mother's eyes widened with curiosity for a moment, so she clasped her hands together in her lap. She had to play it cool.

"Absolutely not," her mother said in a tone which signified the end of any discussion. "And eat light tomorrow. You'll be wearing one of my RTW dresses and we only have small sizes left."

To say that Blair was in a bad mood the following morning would have been a severe understatement. As soon as she had woken up she had lashed out at poor Dorota because she said the breakfast was ready. She snarled at the maid that she wouldn't be eating anything, seeing that she was already fat enough, and slammed the bathroom door in her face.

After the shower, she wanted to get dressed, only to find that Dorota had laid all the wrong things out on her bed. Including a pair of bright-red tights.

"Dorota!" she screeched and the Polish maid peeked her head into the room gingerly. "What is this?"

"That was in table, Miss Blair," the woman said, referring to the list of outfits Blair prepared every weekend for the upcoming week and handed to her.

Blair pursed her lips into the pout her mother disliked so much. "Dorota, when will you learn not to follow the table so strictly? A real dictator of taste has to think outside the box," she lectured while Dorota nodded reverently, though perhaps a bit absently. "Besides, there must be a mistake in the table as I've already worn red tights on Monday."

"Do you want me to find green tights, Miss Blair?"  
"No, Dorota. You can go now. I'll find everything I need by myself."  
Dorota seemed reluctant to leave, but she knew better than to contradict her so she saw herself out.

Half an hour later, Blair said goodbye to the distressed maid and entered the elevator. Honestly, she didn't know why Dorota seemed so puzzled. It wasn't that her clothes clashed. Of course, they couldn't but match in color, considering that all the pieces – save the white high-collar shirt – were exactly the same shade. From her simple headband and brooch, to her business jacket, knee-length pleated skirt and square leather satchel, to her opaque tights which peeked from her almost flat knee-high boots, Blair was dressed in jet black. Why shouldn't she be? Black made her thinner, after all. And what was the point in wearing bright colors when she could never be as exuberant and carelessly breathtaking as Serena? She wasn't skinny. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't sexy. She was nothing. And she felt like showing her true colors today, though she knew well that she would probably regret it tomorrow.

The first few classes were uneventful. During French, Serena texted she had a headache, so she wouldn't come to school at all. Blair didn't feel like commiserating in her hangover and decided to ignore her until Monday, or until tomorrow at the very least. After lunch, their entire year had a study period. Blair would spend it in the library, but she was getting tired of her minions and their stealthy

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glances at her outfit of choice. She retired to the empty yard instead. She sat down at a secluded marble table and opened her chemistry textbook, trying to get a head start on the homework for next week.

"I must say I'm disappointed," Bass drawled as he slid beside her, his back leaning against the table.

Just great. The last person she needed.

"Go away, Bass," she told him, exasperated. "I'm not in the mood."

"That's too bad," he said. She kept her eyes glued to the chemical reactions, but she could feel his on her. "Because I'm always in the mood when I see you."

She remained quiet. If she was completely unresponsive, he would have to go away, right? Right? Wrong.

"What's with the black?" he asked after a short silence. "Mourning something?"

Blair sighed. "Only my Friday night," she said icily, returning his stare. "As I have to come to your father's dinner."

"Ah," he smirked, "and here I've been looking forward to it ever since I found out. I cleared up my schedule just for you."

"Your father ordered you to be there is more like it," she scoffed.

He ignored her. "I hope you'll show a bit more skin." He ran his fingers up and down her knee and her skin warmed in response. "Though I can't say this ruthless businesswoman – slash – St. Blair outfit doesn't turn me on."

As he spoke, his fingers moved from her knee to beneath the hem of her skirt. She heard her breath hitch. She could only hope he didn't.

"I always turn you on, don't I, Chuck?" Her silky voice was like a stranger's to her ears. There was underlying desperation in it, however, which she easily recognized; desperation which he must have sensed, too, because something unreadable flashed in his eyes and his fingertips stopped inching up her thigh. She turned her face away from him.

"I'll take that question as rhetorical."

He was so close that his breath tickled her neck. And then his hand found its way through her hair to her neck. That was the first skin-on-skin contact they'd had in days. Her skin tingled with something like electricity and her heart fluttered to her throat. She felt him closing the distance between them. She lowered her lashes in anticipation. He paused for no more than a second, but that was enough for her. She jumped off the bench and almost ran into the school, clutching her bag so hard her knuckles were white.

She hurried into the first girls' bathroom she found. She threw her bag and then herself onto the

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wooden bench beside the window. She put one of her trembling hands over her mouth. What had she been doing? Acting like one of his sluts, letting him touch her at school? Talking like _that_? How was she going to show her face at his father's dinner this very evening? And, most importantly, why hadn't he kissed her? Why had he stopped? He _had _said he wanted to, right? Oh God, what were the right buttons to push to make her mother go to the Basses alone? Or let her spend a semester abroad? But not before she kissed Chuck Bass. Oh Lord, this was all so, so wrong, on so, so many levels! She had to be losing her mind...

The door creaked and she had never been happier to see Hazel. Penelope was with her, which meant that the study period had ended.

"B," Penelope cooed, "what are you doing here all alone?"

"Yes," Hazel chimed in, "weren't you going to study in the yard? Are you feeling ill?" Her mousy little face transformed into a mask of faux concern.

Blair was taken aback. Hazel couldn't possibly know about her former condition, could she? Serena was the only one who knew and she would never tell _Hazel _of all people, Blair knew it. So she smiled her super bitch smile.

"Hazel," she said, taking her tweed headband off, "Your Jennifer Behr goes better with my jacket. Don't you think so?"

Hazel's eyes widened, but she just nodded. She took off her wafer-thin black silk bandeaux embellished with little crystals and handed it to Blair.

"Thank you, Hazel," Blair said politely. She turned to Penelope, whose eyes were equally wide as Hazel's, and gave her Hazel's headband. "Disinfect it for me, won't you, P?" Then she gave her headband to the other girl.

Hazel accepted it and put it on her fine, dirty-blonde hair without a word.  
"No offense, Hazel." Blair faked earnestness. "You know how I am about other people's things."

Hazel offered her a frozen little smile in return, just as Penelope finished spraying her Jennifer Behr headband.

Blair ran her little brush through her non-curled hair in a few wide strokes after she put the headband on. She smeared some Chanel lip gloss onto her lips. The shade was aptly named Confidence.

"Great," she said smugly, examining her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She turned to her minions and grinned at them. Penelope and Hazel grinned back, their grins identical. Excellent. They needed to always remember their place.

In one smooth movement, she pulled Hazel's headband off her hair and handed it back to its owner. "I think it suits you better after all. It draws attention away from the bags under your eyes," she said and smirked internally at the girls' expressions. "You can keep mine."

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She found a spare, crimson, headband in her bag and put it on her hair effortlessly as she walked out of the bathroom.

She walked into her next class satisfied.

She should have known something bad was looming right behind the corner, though. The entire day was disastrous, after all.

It happened when they were heading home. Kati and Iz noticed that Ms. Carr, the new English teacher, had put up a notice about the "senior" debate team. It turned out she was a fucking stand-in, a substitute. Blair Waldorf had never been a substitute! Granted, she had never been on the senior debate team, either. Traditionally, only one junior was allowed in. The rest were seniors, obviously. But there had to be some mistake! Why else would L'Wren Slut Knowes be a regular and she a stand-in? How could _that _ever make sense?

Blair strode to Ms. Carr's office, flanked by Kati and Iz, only to find it locked. The stupid I-taught- for-free-in-Alabama peasant would have to be dealt with after the weekend.

"That Cornflower Mary has no clue what she's doing," Kati said indignantly as the three of them walked out of school.

"Yes," Iz agreed vigorously, "she has no idea who she's messing with." "Plotting at my place, tomorrow afternoon?" Kati suggested.

"Thank you, girls," Blair said, her lips curving into a grin which would put the Cheshire Cat to shame, "but that won't be necessary."

Both Kati and Iz whipped their faces to her, the identical hot-pink flowers in their hair bobbing.  
"I've got a feeling L'Wren will decide to step down." She glanced again at the text she had received a

minute ago. It read, _L'Wren Knowes sells her little brother's Ritalin. _It was from Chuck Bass.

* * *

"You really are my best advertisement," Eleanor declared with pride in her voice as she fastened the sash around Blair's waist and tied it into a bow.

Her daughter's lips quirked. She wasn't sure what an appropriate response to that would be. 'Oh, thank you, Mother. I'm glad you think about me as something which can increase your company's profit,' maybe?

Eleanor didn't seem to be expecting any kind of reply, though. She was still staring at their reflection in the mirror.

"You have no idea how hard it is to find acceptable models," she said, straightening Blair's Jennifer Behr cream silk headband encrusted with crystals. "They either slump their shoulders or have vacant

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stares." She sighed and shook her head. "They simply are not the type of girl I have in mind when sketching my designs. You, my dear," she rearranged a couple of Blair's curls which had been masterfully done by Dorota, a real pro with a curling iron, "you, on the other hand, exude class. You are polished, but determined and energetic at the same time."

A smile crept onto Blair's face. It wasn't often that her mother was this generous with compliments, especially when it came to her. "Thank you, Mother," she said with her perfect diction. "I guess you've raised me well."

"Indeed I have." It was Eleanor's turn to smile.

"Blair," she said after a few moments, "I may be a bit harsh with you from time to time, but I always have only your best interests at heart." She accentuated her words with light taps on Blair's georgette- covered shoulder. "This world is cruel, my dear, and I want you to reach the maximum of your _enormous _potential so that you can come out of every battle as the winner."

"I know, Mother," Blair said softly. She filed the speech for future reference, for God knew Eleanor's little outbursts of motherly love didn't happen often. But Blair always had her small supply of their little mother-daughter moments to fall back on when things between them weren't good.

"Come," her mother gave one final stroke to her hair before she cocked her head towards the door, "it's time to go."

"I'll be down in a minute." Blair picked up a tube from her vanity. "I just need to put some lip gloss on."

"Don't forget the balm, dear," Eleanor said, almost cheerily, with her hand on the doorknob. "Your lips seem a bit dry."

Blair shook her head incredulously, but she had to smile. Now, _that _was more like her mother. However, for some reason, that didn't bother her, not tonight.

She unscrewed the top off the gloss and started to fill the outline of her bow-shaped lips meticulously. When she was done, she took a final critical look at the mirror. She looked good, if she said so herself. Her hair was gorgeous – Dorota had outdone herself. And her lips, which now shimmered discreetly, did not seem dry, in her opinion. Without permission, a part of her wondered what Chuck thought about them. She shook her head, her curls bouncing, and tossed her lip gloss into her black Judith Leiber Ritz Fizz.

As the elevator slowly ascended to the Bass penthouse at the top of the Palace Hotel, Blair found her nails digging into the leather of her clutch. She tried to draw in a deep breath as inconspicuously as possible. She had been over everything – she had no reason to be ashamed. If anyone should be regretting their actions, that should be Chuck Bass. Of course, he probably didn't feel bad about his heinous behavior, but at least he couldn't torture her in the presence of their parents, could he? She hoped he was having a hard time because he hadn't kissed her, though. He really should have kissed her while he'd still had the chance... All right, all right... In all honesty, she was probably going to kiss him one of these days. That was the only way she could get this... whatever it was out of her

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system for good.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. Blair felt a wave of something that resembled panic wash over her. The ride had been too short for her liking and here she was now, following a maid to Chuck's salon. 'His parents' salon,' she corrected herself. Then she focused on the sound of her Louboutins crossing the white marble of the hall. She counted the clicks, which came to a halt much too soon.

"Mr. Bass, Mrs. Waldorf and Miss Waldorf are here," the maid announced in a slight Russian accent.

Blair recited in her head all eleven words of Russian she knew as she half-watched the infamous real-estate shark greet her mother. There was still a part of her mind which acknowledged his son, who sauntered towards them, all formal in a black suit (which fitted even better than his uniform, if that was possible), white dress shirt and burgundy tie. She mentally kicked herself for opting for the dress with a burgundy sash instead of the navy version.

"My son Charles," his father introduced him to her mother.

Blair found herself suppressing a smile. Of course she had known his name was Charles. Nobody would actually name their child Chuck, right? Still, it sounded so... nice. He actually seemed like a decent human being as he politely said, "I am delighted, Mrs. Waldorf." and kissed her mother's hand. Clearly, that was a bit over the top, but – obviously – he'd done that so that he could kiss her hand, too. She didn't mind.

It seemed that his father had seen through his charade, as well, as his eyebrows briefly rose to his forehead before he turned to Blair. "And this must be your lovely daughter," he said, offering Blair, who had seen him before but hadn't been formally introduced to him, his version of a society smile.

"Yes, that's my Blair," her mother practically gushed, in the manner in which she usually did at social events.

Blair extended her right hand, smiling pleasantly at Bart Bass and trying not to show how his steel-blue gaze, unreached by his smile, affected her. The man was making her jittery. In a way most distinct from the way his son made her jittery. She felt like a little girl doing her best not to disappoint her teacher on the first day of school. No wonder he had a certain reputation in the business world, from what she'd heard.

His handshake was warm and firm, and somehow reassuring, though. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Blair," he said.

"You too, Mr. Bass," she returned with a smile. Her voice was full of confidence she didn't feel. This whole situation, with her mother so openly proud of her, his father seemingly approving of her, Chuck on his best behavior, the two of them matching... It all eerily reminded her of the arranged marriage scene she had read in one of Dorota's books earlier that week. She really needed to stop reading trash in secret. And to get a grip. She resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably.

"It's always a pleasure, Blair," Chuck the Basstard drawled her name out in that obscene way of his as he brought her hand to his lips. The kiss was quick and feather-light, appropriate to the situation –

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well, at least as far as how appropriate actually kissing the lady's hand and not the air right above it could ever be. Yet, it was so painfully inappropriate. The way something ran through her veins and hit the pit of her stomach like a bolt of lightning was utterly inappropriate and oh-so-good. She withdrew her hand quickly and masked her gasp with a little cough.

"Chuck." She nodded curtly.

She could feel two additional pairs of eyes boring into her, one almost identical to hers and one icy blue.

"We met at the Rhodes-van der Woodsens' in the Hamptons during the summer," Chuck explained, drawing their attention to him, for which she was grateful.

"That's right," Bart said as he led the way to the bar and neoclassical moss-green sofas and antique-gold chairs, "you spent the end of August in the Hamptons with Nathaniel."

And now Blair knew there were two people in the universe who called Nate Nathaniel. Even Anne Archibald used her son's nickname all the time, as far as she could tell. Refusing a drink, Blair daintily placed herself onto a chair wedged between a bookshelf and a baby grand Steinway. That was the only way she could be sure that a certain someone was not going to whisper indecent things in her ear. She couldn't let him do that in front of their parents, could she? She clutched the skirt of her dress. No, she couldn't let him do that, period.

She smoothed down her knee-length dress, which had ridden up good three inches as she sat. She looked up, just to be sure that Chuck had caught... had not caught that. Of course he had. He smirked at her as he swirled a glass of scotch and mouthed, behind his father's back, something that looked like, "Too little skin."

Her eyes bugged. Was he insane? Her mother could have seen that! She now regretted deeply that she hadn't taken that drink. It would have given her something to look at, if nothing else. This way, the only thing in her field of vision was the Basstard. She hadn't chosen her seat wisely after all. Fortunately, her mother saved her.

"Oh," Eleanor basically cooed in her small-talk voice – she obviously hadn't switched to her business mode yet, "I still remember when Evelyn outbid Lily at Sotheby's for this vase."

Blair craned her neck and followed her gaze to a hard-edged crystal... monstrosity in the far corner. No wonder her mother still remembered the wretched thing. Though, truth be told, maybe the vase wasn't as non-beautiful as it was out of sync with the rest of the furniture. It would suit Lily's new age-y living room much better.

"Yes, well," Bart gave out a stilted little laugh, "Evelyn has always been quite competitive. I think she might have wanted that vase as much as she wanted to win."

Blair thought about that for a second. She had a feeling she would like Chuck's mother. The auction stunt sounded like something she might pull against Penelope or Hazel or anyone, really. And the woman liked _Pride and Prejudice_, as far as she remembered, so they already had two things in

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common. Evelyn Bass would probably like her, too. Not that it was important for her to like her. Because it wasn't. Especially not because of Chuck. She remembered that Evelyn had been the head of Girls Inc. before Anne Archibald, so she was probably associated with different charities, and that might come in handy for her college applications – that was all. Where was the woman, anyway?

"I was hoping she would be here," Eleanor sort of voiced her thoughts. "She has always had an excellent sense of design."

Her mother's lips were spread into a wide smile – well, as far as her beautifying interventions allowed them to be spread – but Blair's fine-tuned ear caught the disingenuousness in her voice easily. The way her fingers curled over the stem of her wine glass was just another giveaway. Blair supposed that her mother had met an equal in strongheadedness in Evelyn Bass.

"She is very sorry, too," Bart said as Blair risked a glance at Chuck, "but flying commercial gives her migraine and the jet was too far from Monte Carlo. She likes spending the entire summer and fall there. New York City's climate doesn't do her well."

Chuck's lips twitched. It seemed as though he wanted to say something, but thought better about it.

"Well," Eleanor told him, and Blair could see her shrug although she couldn't actually see her from the piano any longer, "we won't be talking much design tonight anyway."

"Besides, I'm sure I'll catch up with Evelyn in Paris soon. The fashion week is just around the corner," she said before she focused her attention on a Renoir.

The consensus being that the dessert should be served in the salon and not in the dining room, Blair allowed herself an imperceptible sigh of relief. Throughout the (luckily, only) four courses, during which it had been established that she and Chuck practically attended the same school and their parents talked about their trips to Dubai, Tokyo and Lima, she mostly kept her mouth shut and stared at a point right above the Basstard's left ear. She knew her mother was going to give her a mouthful for her unacceptable, antisocial behavior, but she was past caring. Really, how was she supposed to keep a civilized conversation over her creamed carrots with a person who had sexually molested her before dinner? Well, kind of molested her, anyway.

He had lagged behind when they headed to the Basses' lavish dining room. She walked behind her mother self-consciously, knowing full well that he was watching her. She was a little worried that the back of her dress was a bit too risqué. For, although the front of the Waldorf original she was wearing was demure with its boat neck and simple long sleeves, the back was daring. There was a big rectangular cut-out which reached all the way to the burgundy sash and big bow at her waist. Maybe her skin was too pale next to the dark fabric. Her slight tan acquired in Lyon and the Hamptons _had _been rapidly fading...

As she pondered on this, his hand curled around her wrist and she let him pull her into the darkness of a staircase.

"I've been dying to do this..." he murmured, his breath hot on the nape of her neck as he brushed her curls aside. She buried her nails into the soft fabric of her dress savagely, bit her lip and felt her knees

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buckle, all at the same time.

"...since I saw your dress." He ran a finger down the column of her spine and her back arched. Her naked skin was going crazy with flashes of hot and cold. Oh God, this was not normal. And it was incredible. And it was getting better. She didn't want it to end. But she had to end it. She sighed.

"Stop it!" she hissed as she turned forcefully towards him, freeing her wrist from his grasp.

"No, you stop it," he countered. His eyes were the darkest she had seen them and she could see her reflection in his dilated pupils. "Stop fighting it," he demanded. "I know you want it too."

She knew she should deny it. She knew she should just walk away. He was right, though. She wanted him. She wanted him so much that, when he gripped her waist, she pressed herself even closer into him. Her trembling, caused by his hands on her bare back, was transferring onto him, but she would have to be embarrassed about that later. It was like there was a bubble, somewhere inside her chest, which was waiting to explode. But their parents' distant yet distinct laughter pierced the air, and the bubble shrank instead. His lips barely brushed the corner of hers as she turned her head away.

She didn't know why she had done that. She could have lied to herself and said she'd done it because their parents were there, waiting on them for dinner. Not so deep down, though, she knew she hadn't been that afraid of her mother or his father finding them in a compromising position (as if they would come looking for them in person). She had been afraid of what that kiss would have meant, to both of them. It would have changed everything. It would be too difficult to hold onto her silly illusion that a kiss would cure her of him forever. Had they kissed, she would have wanted more; that much was crystal clear now. She had no doubt he wouldn't have stopped her, or himself. What would have happened then? Her best guess was that one of Chuck Bass's many conquests would be left to pick up the pieces of her "special night" dreams and hope that her mother, let alone Gossip Girl, would never find out.

She still wasn't able to move away from him, though. Her hands were clutching his lapels and her forehead was resting on his jacket.

His grip on her tightened and she tensed but stayed firmly in place. He lowered his head and kissed her ear. Strictly speaking, his lips only touched her hair, but she shivered nevertheless. She wondered if she would ever stop reacting to him.

"Tease," he whispered, more lightly and good-naturedly than she'd thought he was capable of. His grip relaxed and he made no attempt to hold her when she extricated herself from him.

She took a step back and inhaled deeply. Then she smiled at him, in her Ice Queen role again. "Although I will personally see to it that there are no future Bass heirs if you ever try to kiss me again," she said, her voice not nearly bitchy enough to her ears, "I won't let you tarnish my reputation by showing up in front of our parents with my lip gloss on you."

She reached out to wipe away the non-existent trace of her gloss from his lips. She didn't know why she was doing that; she just knew she couldn't help herself. Her thumb lingered on his lower lip and she felt the softest of kisses on the pad of her finger. It took all her willpower to keep her eyes open

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and to not fall into his arms again.

"Are you sure?" She could say he was aiming for cocky, but he failed, approximately as miserably as she had with her attempt at bitchiness. Even his leering felt forced when he said, "We can have dinner in my room."

"God, Bass, 'no' is not such a difficult concept to grasp!" she muttered with false indignation before she breezed into the dining room.

Chuck appeared a minute or two later, after his father had already tapped his fingers a couple of times next to his Lenox china.

So, no, honestly, Blair was not sure when exactly during the dinner that jumble of feelings that burned inside her had turned into rage towards Chuck. Nor was she sure why that had happened. Of course, she could guess, but she had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer so she decided to just hate the Basstard and get it over with. She had employed her Hamptons tactic aka the "act like he doesn't exist" tactic. She had answered a couple of Bart's questions about her summer with her dad and her college plans, but she never rose to the bait when his son talked about how he was leaning towards USC although Columbia, Yale, Rice and Dartmouth all seemed appealing (as if Yale would accept him).

"I have no doubt that the University of South California is a fine school, but I would not like him to move to the West Coast yet," Bart said. "In four years, yes. Stanford has the best business school in the country and I expect that Charles will apply himself more in college than he has done in high school."

Blair, for her part, had no doubt that _Charles _would apply himself to drinking, smoking pot and womanizing even more diligently in college than he had in school. The notion of Chuck Bass, a businessman, was laughable.

"You know I still don't feel that business school is a necessity, Father. You either have business acumen or you don't," Chuck said, as self-assuredly as ever. "While I do agree that Stanford has an excellent MBA program, I would rather you took a look at my proposal."

Proposal? Blair's eyebrows furrowed for a moment. This was something new.

"I will do that first thing in the morning." Bart turned to Eleanor. "Charles has made a business plan for a club he wants Bass Industries to buy."

Eleanor smiled. "I like to see young people taking initiative. Blair has so many extracurricular activities, but I often wish she was more interested in my company, apart from the clothes, that is."

Blair allowed herself an almost unnoticeable frown as she cast a look of disapproval at Chuck. Now her mother preferred _him _over her?

Her expression soon changed, though, along with her mood, when she glanced at Bart just as he said, "Yes, I'm sure Chuck has done a good job with his proposal."

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Although his words were fatherly and encouraging, his face looked like Eleanor's had last May, when Dorota let it slip that Blair was determined to be the new queen of Constance. It was a "don't get your hopes too high, that's more than you can handle" face.

She knew her features had softened, but she didn't want to think about that as she addressed Chuck directly for the first time. "Have you considered going back to Europe, for grad school if not now?"

If he was surprised by her question, he didn't show it. "No," he said. "Europe was getting a little dull. I missed the City and I couldn't wait to get back to the States."

"And yet he insisted on spending a good part of the summer in Monaco." Bart smiled his half-smile.

"Tell me about it." Eleanor huffed. "Blair came home in mid-August and I'd barely managed to convince her to go to Lyon in the first place."

"I enjoyed my time with Daddy," Blair said; she still hadn't really warmed up to that husband stealer of Roman, though he could be charming, "and Daddy's new hom- house. I'm sure Chuck enjoyed spending some time with his mother."

As soon as she said that, she bit her tongue. Who said Chuck had been in Monaco because of his mother, even if the woman had been in Monte Carlo? He'd probably been gambling. Besides, it wasn't like the Basses were divorced. Uh-oh, this had been a faux pas she'd hear about later, no doubt about that. But, for some reason, she didn't regret it so much because of her mother's imminent litany as because of the vulnerable look that crossed Chuck's face.

He shrugged, his features perfectly calm again, and Blair couldn't but wonder what all he was hiding behind that poker face. "Mom was in Karlovy Vary with some friends. Actually, now that I think about that, I've heard somewhere that Uncle Jack spent a couple of days there, too." He looked at his father and the strange undercurrent that passed between the two men did not go unnoticed by Blair. She made a mental note to google Evelyn Bass.

"Anyway," Chuck continued, putting his glass down, "I had fun in Monaco, but the Hamptons were the highlight of my summer."

He smiled what he probably thought of as his lady-killer smile at Blair, and she politely – or if she was being honest, involuntarily – smiled back a little.

"The Hamptons were fun occasionally, but I got bored quickly," she said flippantly. "I loved the Axe Lounge redecoration, though." She raised her eyebrows slightly, but he just kept grinning at her.

His father cleared his throat. "Larissa, you may serve the dessert in the living room; thank you," he said. "Shall we?"

"Actually, Father," Chuck said in his most respectful tone, "I would rather first return Miss Waldorf her chemistry textbook before I forget about it again."

Blair bit back a gasp. Between their failed kiss, the debate club debacle, blackmailing L'Wren Knowes and getting ready for this dinner, she had forgotten about her book, which she had obviously left

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behind in the schoolyard. She could hear her mother's neck crack as she turned to stare at her.

"I think I left it upstairs, in the study," Chuck spoke up again, before Blair could come up with a hasty explanation why a person (and a boy) who neither was in her class nor her friend had her textbook. "Would you join me, Blair?"

"That would probably be a good idea," Bart said, "since the Palace conversation is about to get pretty technical." He smiled at her mother. "If you don't mind, of course, Eleanor."

Her mother smiled back. "No, not at all."

Blair could not believe her ears. What was this? Everybody wanted her alone in a room with the Basstard. Didn't they know what he did to poor innocent girls? Some parents. She pushed away the gross-ish thought of what this particular, not-so-innocent girl wanted him to do to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, turning her doe eyes from one person to another, "but I'd rather avoid walking, especially if it involves stairs." She even batted her lashes once. "You see," she told Chuck, her voice as honey-like as she could make it, "I was very ungraceful today, I'm afraid, and I sprained my ankle a little while I was trying to get away from this St. Jude's student who's been pestering me."

"You, ungraceful?" The Basstard smirked cheekily. "I simply cannot believe that." Her eyes narrowed. "Always such a gentleman," she said, still in a sickly sweet voice.

"I hope it was nothing serious. Boys can behave...," Bart frowned as he eyed Chuck sideways, "improperly at that age."

"Oh," Eleanor waved her hand, "I'm sure it was nothing important or Blair would have told me." "Of course, Mother." Blair smiled and nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Chuck appeared in the salon, her chem book in hand. He was also holding a notebook and a pen.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Blair, but could you perhaps explain this one problem," he said unceremoniously. "I see that you've marked it as solved and we have it for homework. I just can't wrap my head around it." He smiled, but the smile seemed to be aimed more at her mother than at her.

Blair put her silver spoon down, next to her barely touched glazed Brie, and bit her lip as the wheels in her mind started to turn at a considerable speed. She didn't want to be rude, openly, but she had no intention of spending the rest of the evening in some secluded corner with Chuck while he- Oh wait, maybe she did. Nevertheless, doing so would mean that the Basstard won, and she had no intention of letting him win. Ever.

Fortunately, Bart seemed to frown at the idea, too. Eleanor, however, waved her hand, again.

"Oh, sure she can," she said. "Blair's always liked helping with homework. She loved playing the teacher."

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Chuck looked at Blair and, from the smile in his eyes, she simply could tell what perverted thoughts he was thinking. His dirty mind was rubbing off on her, ew. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You kids can sit there," Eleanor motioned in the general direction of the fireplace, "while Bart and I go over the overall color scheme and some other things again."

Chuck snickered. Blair got up, resisting the urge to stomp her foot, and headed to the mahogany cocktail table near the fireplace. She could feel the eyes of both Basses on her. Chuck put the books in front of her and then retrieved her dessert and champagne. Out of the corner of her eye, Blair could see that his father was still watching them.

Chuck moved his chair so that he was sitting beside, rather than opposite, her.

"So," he broke the silence, "I hear that L'Wren is too busy with the film club to join the debate one."

She was glad that he'd broached the subject, though she hated that she had to thank him now.

"Yes, I've heard that, too," she said, her bitchy smile resurfacing. "Thank you. Though I wonder why."

"Why what?"

"Why did you," she caught herself before she said "help me", "send me that text?"

He took a sip of his champagne. Then he shrugged. "Consider it my 'Nobody puts Baby in a corner.' moment." He smirked.

Blair frowned for a moment and then laughed mockingly. "Oh, excuse me, do you expect me to burst into 'I've Had the Time of My Life' now?" She opened her textbook absently. "Because that's not going to happen. I certainly haven't had the time of my life with you." She ignored his somewhat soft "not yet." "Besides, I fell asleep when I tried to watch that second-rate movie with Serena."

"I did take you for a classic movies girl." He nodded slowly, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes slightly, as though he was trying to concentrate. Rather unfortunately, all Blair could concentrate on in that moment was how kissable he was.

"Audrey Hepburn, maybe?" he suggested.  
She hated that smug smile playing on his lips. "Stalk me much?" "No need," he said. "It's all over your Facebook wall."

"I repeat, 'Stalk me much?'" Yet, in a weird way, she liked it that he wanted to know things about her. "Why would you waste your time on Facebook anyway? A Small World is full of sluts looking for anyone with a handful of cash," she said condescendingly.

He smiled. She hated how he could infuriate her while she amused him. "True," he ceded her the point. "But where's the fun in that?"

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He put his hand on top of hers, which rested on her textbook. His thumb rubbed against her wrist. And there it was again, that tingly feeling. She reached for the pen, shrugging his hand off.

"So," she said after she put the pen down and sipped from her drink, "you helped me out out of the kindness of your heart?" She raised her eyebrows, mocking him.

"Waldorf," he said softly. She liked it when he talked like that. "I have no kind bone in my body." "I know, Bass." She rolled her eyes at him. "I was being sarcastic."

It was he who took a swig of champagne this time. "You know 'I've Had the Time of My Life' even though you claim you fell asleep during the movie." The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Serena woke me up near the end."

"Whatever," he waved his hand a little. "What's important is that we all know what happened after that dance." He eyed her suggestively, probably enjoying the way all color left her face.

Blair couldn't believe his nerve. Had he just...? Wow, did he think he lived in _Les Liaisons dangereuses _or something? He should have his head checked. Though the role of Valmont would suit him and- Well, anything that was _maybe _to happen would have to be on her terms, so...

"You. Are. Insane," she finally told him.

"Don't worry, Blair," he smirked again, "you don't have to repay me right now." He lowered his voice as he leaned closer. "Though I've been wondering what exactly you're wearing under that dress."

Her lashes fluttered down and then up, and she held onto the textbook as onto dear life. She slowly exhaled as she found the page with the problems that Mr. Pizer had told them to solve. She'd only managed to finish one that afternoon, the easiest one. Even a ninth grader could solve it.

"Do you even take AP Chemistry?" she asked.

"Not really."

"I guessed that much." She stifled a sigh.

"I don't need theory," he said. "I know how it works in practice."

She made a face at him. "Oh, you mean you know how sugars dissolve in water?"

"No," he said calmly, placing his hand over hers again. "I mean I know how you dissolve when I touch you."

She pulled her hand away sharply. "So, you do notice how I recoil in disgust?"

"No," he drawled. "I notice how your pulse quickens and how sometimes blood rushes to your face," he ran his knuckles down her cheek, "making you blush in the cutest way."

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She waited with bated breath until she was sure she was not going to blush this time. She would not have survived the humiliation. The powers that be had mercy on her, thankfully, so she puffed. Had Chuck Bass just called her cute? She wasn't a puppy, dammit! If he was to call her anything, that'd better be: gorgeous, brilliant, breathtaking or a synonym thereof. She moved out of his reach.

"Firstly, I don't blush, ever." The ice in her voice matched the ice in her eyes. "Secondly, if you have any effect on me, I have an effect on you, too."

She didn't even know how she had come up with that. The law of action and reaction, maybe, but that was physics. She congratulated herself, though, as the Basstard remained speechless for good ten seconds.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh Chuck," she talked as if she was speaking to a child, "do you think that I don't notice how _you _feel when I touch you or when you touch me?" She deeply enjoyed the slight furrowing of his brow, but somehow restrained herself from rejoicing openly. She decided to gloss over the part that she certainly knew where _his _blood rushed to (ladies didn't talk about that; that was... ew, sort of). "Do you think I don't know why you didn't kiss me today?"

His eyes widened ever so slightly. Oh, she was getting really good at this! Of course, she was totally lying – she herself was dying to know why he had not "sealed the deal." However, Chuck was totally buying it, or so it seemed.

"Why?" he asked. His usual arrogant, perfectly collected facade was in place again and it crossed her mind how he indeed had amazing bone structure.

"You know why." 'I certainly don't,' she added inwardly.  
"You tell me." He was stubborn. Just as much as she was, unfortunately.  
"Blair," Eleanor called out, making her jump a little, "what do you think: eggshell or ivory?"

"In a minute, Mother!" Blair called back with a false smile in her voice. She had all but forgotten that her mother was there. And she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. She doubted that Bart Bass knew, either. Once the usually extremely pragmatic Eleanor would get into her full designer mode, she would from time to time talk in a language that only she understood. So Blair made it her mission to save Bart Bass, and her mother's deal, and herself, from this tug of war with Chuck Bass.

She opened the notebook that Chuck had brought and scribbled a couple of lines.  
"Consider my debt paid." She stood up.  
He glanced down at the strings of letters and numbers. "But I don't even take chemistry," he protested. "Well, that's too bad." She grinned at him before she rejoined their parents.  
The rest of the evening went smoothly. Bart and Eleanor talked about fine wines and menswear. Blair

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quipped in with a few remarks about the history of fashion and her high expectations of the Ivy Week at school and the Cotillion. Chuck told a couple of anecdotes from school trips, at which even Blair _and _Bart laughed.

When they were saying goodbye, Bart Bass bestowed something that seemed like a genuine smile on her. Chuck kissed her hand again. It was equally electrifying as the first time, just this time it was even better because he held her hand a bit longer and squeezed her fingers a little. She was still looking at him, wondering what it would feel like when they kissed, as the elevator doors closed. And the best part was that he was looking at her, too.

As she curled up in one corner of the car, gazing at the familiar city lights, she sighed (less dramatically that she'd wanted to, though, because her mother was there). It was clear now. She had lost. But it didn't feel like losing. No, it felt like sitting in front of a fire with warm milk and Chips Ahoy on a Christmas morning, surrounded by artistically wrapped gifts, while it snowed outside, just a million times better. It was crystal clear now. She had a crush on Chuck Bass. And if that crush brought her this warm, fuzzy feeling, who was she to argue? At least right now.

Besides, she had seen a somewhat different Chuck tonight. She had expected him to be all smirking and smarmy, even during the actual dinner, with their parents there. He had been polite. He knew how to behave when he knew he had to behave. She liked it. He was a bit like her in that respect. She was Audrey, and sometimes she was Grace, but sometimes she was just Blair – snappy and bitchy to an extreme. Not that she would offer to admit that out loud. Or that she even admitted that to herself more than a handful of times a year.

And although she would rather die, or at least not go shopping for a year (which _would _be a total social _and _emotional suicide), than confess _that _out loud, she liked the impolite Chuck, too... a little... perhaps. She liked their verbal sparring, even if it could be exhausting. She liked the way he looked at her, like he was telling her she was beautiful and meant it. And the way he touched her...

"Why are you so giddy?" Her mother sounded atypically cheerful. "You look like the cat that ate the canary." She patted Blair's hair.

Blair's eyes found focus, but she was still smiling. No, she hadn't eaten a canary. Just a Bass. Kind of. Okay, that was lame. But she couldn't stop thinking about him. She had a crush on Chuck Bass. And it was probably just too much champagne with too little food, but the thought wasn't that repulsive anymore.

"Oh, I'm just happy for you, Mother, and your company."

"That's going to be your company one day, Blair," Eleanor told her, "even if you're not a designer." She ran her hand over Blair's curls again. It seemed that she was in a good mood tonight, as well. "So," she said after a while, "the Bass boy is quite a charmer, huh?"

"He's not all bad, I suppose." Blair half-shrugged, but she smiled again. She wasn't sure why she didn't tell the truth – that he was pretty much abhorrent and had just pretended to be polite at dinner. Maybe because Mother would actually remember that.

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That was the first night that Blair wanted to dream of Chuck Bass. Her wish was granted, but in the morning she couldn't remember what the dream had been about. She just knew it had been nice.

The rest of the weekend was pretty quiet. Blair spent a better portion of Saturday with her eyes glued to an Audrey marathon. _Breakfast at Tiffany's _and _Roman Holiday _could always relax her. They would take her to a different time and place (well, _Roman Holiday _would, at least), and she would be Holly (though, to be completely fair, she was a bit more like Serena) or Ann. With porcelain cups full of green or black tea, which was there to rein in the effects of limited edition Godivas, added into the mix, she was used to being able to leave her worries behind.

The problem with this Saturday was that she couldn't seem to leave her biggest problem behind. For, shortly after she had woken up, completely sober, the sweet effects of her sweet dream had started to wear out and the ugly truth hit her: it was not okay to be okay with having a crush on Chuck Bass. Everybody, the Basstard included, would laugh at her behind her back if they knew. He was not boyfriend material and she was not a one-night stand, not in the city, where she had a school to rule and Yale officials to impress.

But as she watched her beloved Audrey, it was all the Basstard, all the time. What would it be like to kiss him in the rain? What would he buy her at Tiffany's? Would he dare shoplift for fun? What cafe would they go to in Rome? Would he go with her to see Keats' house at la Piazza di Spagna? And myriad other, equally inane, questions.

As she screamed for Dorota to bring her another cup of tea, she tried to be Zen about it. The entire situation should not bother her that much. She'd had crushes before. She knew how that worked – if nobody acted upon it, the crush would eventually fizzle out. Bass would never offer to be her boyfriend (not that she would accept) and she was strong enough to endure his lewd suggestions (not that she wasn't planning to avoid him). Everything was settled, then.

When the girls called her to go to Griffin with them, she disregarded the fact that it was strictly bridge and tunnel on the weekends and that only a private party would be acceptable. Instead, she threw on an orange Philip Lim.

After she tossed back the remains of her second El Diablo, she was ready to go home. Getting hit on by creeps was not her idea of fun. Maybe it would be okay if she was getting hit on by a particular creep. The one who wasn't even there although – according to Gossip Girl – he was known to drop by on Saturdays. The one who she would want to let sit next to her on that velvet sofa and tell her all kinds of improper things and touch her knee and kiss her and- It probably was a good thing he wasn't there. Only, it wasn't. She wanted him there, dammit.

On Sunday she overslept. By lunch, she was headed for a full-force panic attack. Not only was she behind her SAT prep schedule, but that big pile of homework seemed to be impossible to reduce to a reasonable size. Therefore, she pretty much ignored Serena's text, like S had disregarded hers the previous day. There would be plenty of time to catch up at school on Monday.

And there was, but Serena hadn't appeared and wasn't taking her calls. Blair was getting worried. However, as she sat down and her minions positioned themselves on the lower steps, she had to focus on other things. Namely, the invites to her party. She was satisfied. Jenny Humphrey had done an

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outstanding job.

"Well done, Little J." Blair took an invitation out of the box in which they were neatly stacked. "Here's yours, as promised," she said, handing it to the younger girl. "You can come to lunch tomorrow."

Jenny's face lit up as though Blair had given her a black credit card and first dibs on Oscar de la Renta. "Thank you, Blair. See you tomorrow!" she chirped before she skipped down the stairs.

"So, B," Iz started, opening her fruit cup, "what are you wearing Saturday? A Waldorf original or..." But Blair wasn't listening. Her phone was vibrating. It was Serena.  
"Hello?" she answered, gesturing to the girls to be quiet.  
"B..."

Blair gripped her phone. Her best friend was crying. She got up and turned her back to her clique. "Serena? Whatever it is, you need to calm down and tell me where you are."

"I'm... at... my place," Serena's words came out half-choked by her sobs. "Can you... come?"

"I'll be there in five." Blair was resolute. "And, whatever it is, honey, it's not worth it."

But Serena had already hung up.

"I'll take the rest of the day off. Kati, tell Ms. Carr and the rest of them you had to walk me home because I got ill during lunch," Blair gave instructions before she rushed off.

She made it to Serena's Park Avenue building in six minutes.

"I'm sorry I dragged you here," Serena told her as soon as the elevator doors opened. She wasn't crying anymore, but her eyes were puffy and her lower lip wobbled. She had a dirty Kleenex in her hand.

"Nonsense," Blair said firmly. "Now, why don't you get rid of that Kleenex and tell me what happened?"

Serena led the way into her bedroom silently. Then she flung herself onto the bed and buried her face into a pillow. Blair stroke her back until her sobs subsided.

"Lily?" she asked when Serena hadn't let out a sound for five minutes.

Her friend lifted her tear-stained face towards her. "We broke up," she said weakly.

Blair frowned. "Nate?" She couldn't believe it. "When? Why?" She didn't want to bombard Serena with questions, but she couldn't help it. Serena did not cry over boys, not since Luke Goodred had broken her heart in fifth grade. Nate must have done something really awful.

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"Last night," Serena whispered. "He told me that I... that I," tears started streaming down her face again, "should stay in with him, that I was spending more time with Georg- Georgina than with h-him."

Blair hugged her tightly, but as she rubbed circles into her back, she couldn't help but think that Nate had told the truth.

"And I told him t-that he doesn't own me... And that I don't want to be tied d-down..."

"Oh S," Blair squeezed her eyes shut, "it's going to be okay." She had a feeling this was going to be a tough one.

She was right. As usual.  
"No, B," a clean-faced and calm Serena told her. "There is no way I'm calling him first. Since when do

_you _advise the girl to be the first to call?"  
"I didn't tell you to call him," Blair defended herself. "I told you to bump into him, stage a run-in." "Same thing." Serena jutted her chin out.

Blair only sighed. At least she had gotten Serena to promise she would try and spend more time with Nate if (which was really "when") they made up, and managed to throw in a couple of chosen insults at Whoregina's expense. She knew there was no point in pressuring S further, at least not then and there. Serena knew better than anyone how a hasty commitment led to a messy separation. Blair could not blame her for not wanting to become the next Lily Rhodes van der Woodsen and whatever other last names the woman had. She only wished she could do more to help her.

On Tuesday Serena came to school, adamant that she would not address Nathaniel Archibald before he addressed her. Blair was proud of how high she held her head and ignored the whispers, for the breakup had – of course – hit Gossip Girl.

At lunch, Blair nearly choked on her yogurt when she saw Georgina Sparks climbing up the Met steps. She got up to prevent the possibility of the Queen of Darkness, dressed in all black, as was her custom, sitting higher than her.

"Snow White," Whoregina cooed as she stood in front of Blair, whose minions were watching them, eyes wide and phones ready, "don't you know that Indian summer is in October, November even, and your party is in September?"

"Thank you, _Georgina_," Blair spat her name out with pure malice, "but I do believe that I am the straight-A student and the first in class here. Have you ever heard of artistic license?" She smiled innocently. "Thought so."

"Why so edgy, sweetie?" Georgina's vampire grin appeared again. Combined with her words, it brought Blair's blood dangerously close to the boiling point. "I just wanted to do a good deed. I won't be coming to your little party anyway."

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Blair put her best Queen B(itch) smile on. "We both know that, unfortunately, I won't be that lucky." She reached into her bag. "So I've decided to spare the poor soul who would be coerced into taking you as his 'plus one' and give you an invite." She checked the name on the little envelope she'd fished out of her taupe Proenza Schouler and gave it to Georgina, whose satchel was now singing "Judas" in a rather loud and obnoxious manner.

"Why, thank you, Snow White." Georgina grinned again before she murmured amorously into her iPhone, "Carter, baby, where have you..."

Blair sniggered. It was a matter of days when Baizen would kick her sorry ass to the curb, and she would be sure to get front-row seats to the show.

When she rejoined the girls, though, Blair wasn't feeling that victorious any longer. Whoregina's invite gone, she still had one left and she had no idea what to do with it. Was she really going to invite Chuck Bass to her party? Who knew to what conclusions he could jump if she did invite him. All right, she maybe had a little crush on him, but she'd decided it was better if she didn't do anything about it. She didn't want to know him better, she didn't want to be his friend, she just wanted to get over it. After all, admitting you have a problem is the first step towards the solution, right? But that little envelope, tucked into her chem notebook wouldn't leave her alone and she kept wondering whether she should invite Chuck or not.

He decided for her.  
"Waldorf," he materialized out of thin air in front of the school gate on Wednesday morning, "orange

_is _your color."  
She raised her eyebrows, pretending she had no idea what he was talking about. Considering that she

had nothing that resembled orange on, that wasn't difficult. "I saw you on Gossip Girl, in Griffin," he clarified.

Blair beamed, but only inwardly. That photo was the best pic of her that Gossip Girl had published so far.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Chuck continued, "but would you consider a private tour of your bedroom after your party?"

She scoffed, "You're not even invited." He smirked, she scoffed – that was how it worked.

"As if that is going to stop me," he said and she hurried into the school building without sparing another glance his way.

When Serena called in the middle of the night, for the sixteenth time, Blair knew something had to be done asap. Not because she desperately needed her beauty sleep, which she did, but because she couldn't stand to witness her best friend's agony any longer.

She'd debated with herself the entire day at school, evaluating different scenarios and dismissing them. She knew what she had to do, but she couldn't bring herself to actually do it. Sighing, she

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hurled one of the pillows from her bed across the room. Just then, her phone rang. It was a generic ringtone, and she was relieved Serena wasn't crying again. She smiled as she checked the caller ID. She took a deep breath and pressed "answer."

"Bass," she greeted, "just the person I needed."

"Waldorf," he said. "I had the feeling you might need me." She could hear the smile in his voice and her lips curled into a small smile in return. She was grateful he couldn't see her. "What're you wearing?"

Ugh! As disgusting as ever. "Get your mind out of the gutter for a minute." She rolled her eyes. "I need help with a scheme."

"And would it be correct to assume that that scheme includes a certain best friend of mine and a certain best friend of yours?"

"Correct." She nodded. His brain was degenerated, true, but at least he had it.

"So, what do you have in mind?" he asked. "Watching Nathaniel mop around like a lovesick puppy has become rather tiresome."

"Meet me at the bridge on the pond in Central Park in an hour. I don't scheme over the phone." 'Too often.'

"What will you be wearing?"  
God, she could listen to him for hours. If only he weren't so heinous. "A cold shower?" she suggested.  
"Hey," he protested, "the minute is up, so..."  
"Hanging up!" Blair sing-songed before she ended the call.

Then she jumped off the bed. She hesitated in front of her closet for a moment, but decided to leave her champagne Chloé blouse on. Its little pleats at the front did a favor to her flat-y bust, after all. She didn't replace her black T by Alexander Wang pencil skirt, either. The only thing she did change were her tights – she exchanged her white Wolfords for a pair of red ones. She sat down at her vanity to touch up her makeup.

She spotted him even before she reached Gapstow Bridge. He was still wearing his uniform, too. He was also smoking.

"Would you mind putting that out," she said instead of a greeting. "Second-hand smoke cancer is not in my plans." Truth be told, she wasn't sure if that was a cigarette or a joint. It looked like a cig, but didn't smell like it. He couldn't be smoking pot in broad daylight in the middle of Central Park (well, the non-Sheep Meadow part, at the very least), could he? Then again, smoking of any kind was prohibited in the Park anyway, so it didn't really matter.

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Whatever it was, he flicked it to the ground and stepped on it with the tip of his shoe. Blair chose not to comment on the rudeness of that.

He finally turned to her. "So?"  
Blair pouted for a moment, wondering what she had done to deserve such a thorny welcome.

"So," she said, resolved not to care about the Basstards motivations or problems, "we have to fix this or we'll be subjected to more midnight calls and heart-wrenching sighs."

"Not to mention pathetic eighties ballads," Chuck said grumpily. He saw her puzzled expression and added, "Nathaniel has rediscovered the Captain's record collection."

For a second, Blair enjoyed the trace of a smile on his face. He was so different when he smiled genuinely.

"Serena has told me she will call him first under no circumstances." She sighed. "Nathaniel has told me the same."

"Well, then you have to make him call her," Blair said like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why does he have to call her first?" Chuck's grumpiness returned. "She's the one who's bailed on him."

Blair gasped in disbelief. "Because he was moving too fast," she spelled it out for him. "He needs to apologize for that."

"To apologize because he wanted his girlfriend to stay in with him and not go out with her friends for once?" His eyes narrowed, and for a handful of moments he looked truly pissed. His usual demeanor was back in a little more than a heartbeat, though. "Although I don't understand why he would want that in the first place unless he was hoping he'd finally get some."

"Of course you don't." Blair snorted. "No wonder you've never had a girlfriend."

"Please," he smirked, "you and I both know I've had plenty of girls."

"But you haven't had a girlfriend." Blair wasn't giving up that easily.

"Chuck Bass doesn't do girlfriends," he said slowly, like a teacher stating an axiom.

Even though the way he referred to himself in the third person was weirdly endearing, it made Blair want to press him further. "Are you afraid?"

"Are you offering?"  
They were silent for a few seconds, staring at each other, neither wanting to back down first. It was

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strange, but Blair could not manage a cutting remark.  
Finally, he spoke up. "All right, if neither will call first, we have to stage a run-in."

"I was just getting to that," she said, the remains of the prior awkwardness dissolving. "My party is a perfect opportunity, if they remain pigheaded until then."

"Yes, I can guarantee that Nathaniel will come to the party," Chuck said. "Like a moth to the flame," he added, his mouth curling with something that looked like disdain. "But do you really think they will start talking to each other just because they're in the same room?"

"Of course not." Blair rolled her eyes impatiently. "That's where you and I come in," she explained. "We'll lure them into the butler's pantry and lock them up. They will have to resolve their issues. And they won't be able to resist each other in such a confined space," she finished triumphantly.

Chuck didn't seem impressed with her plotting skills, though. "Isn't that a bit too childish?"

She sighed. "You have to adapt your plan to your target, Bass," she spoke slowly and distinctly, as though he had trouble understanding English. "Nate and Serena have been acting like children, so I'm treating them like children." She shrugged.

Chuck smiled. "That's a valid point," he said. "I hope you get enough credit for your scheming mind and your wit."

"Don't worry, Bass," she smiled back. That might have just been the first time he'd complimented her personality. "I do." She dug into her sky-blue Balenciaga bag. "Oh, by the way, here is your invite." Her fingers grazed his, and it was such a cliché but it made her heart do a wild dance regardless. "See you at the party."

As she turned to go, she sighed in annoyance. Why couldn't he be more like Jeremy? Or even Nate? If he were, she would have been all over him days ago.

"I wouldn't miss it," he drawled and she heard the click of a lighter.

Then again, if he were like them, would she like him this much? She hurried towards the street, cataloging in her head all those beautiful things she'd seen at Saks yesterday. Thinking about Chuck Bass wasn't good for her.

The party was a raging success. The living room of the Waldorfs' penthouse had been turned into a swirl of deep, sunflower yellow with yards and yards of silk. The antique chandeliers, lit up with dozens of candles, were the only source of light. Girls gushed about the choice of music – which Dorota had nicked from some "100 Greatest Summer Songs" list. Boys drowned themselves in the hors d'oeuvres from Agata & Valentina and Feast & Fêtes. Everybody loved the prosecco Daddy had shipped from Europe.

"You look ravishing."  
Blair closed her eyes as she breathed out slowly. This was torture. She wished he would press his lips

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below her chignon and kill the goosebumps that his voice had created there. She knew he was close enough to do that effortlessly. She could later claim she had been buzzed or even that that hadn't happened at all. She gave him three seconds. When all she could feel on the nape of her neck still was his breath only, she turned around to face him, miffed.

He looked like he knew exactly what she had been thinking and was taking pleasure in that.

"Thank you, Bass," she said coolly. "You can wipe the smirk off your face now. We have business to attend to."

"A dance first, perhaps?" He raised his eyebrows.

"No time for that," she said on an impulse. Then she mentally slapped herself as she looked at him. Surprisingly, he had no jacket and both his slacks and his shirt were black. His vest was also black, but with dark purple – or so it seemed – pinstripes. Needless to say, he looked damn fine. Not that she was shabby herself, in her asymmetric, unusually short Foley & Corinna, a draped band crossing over her chest, making it look fuller. Her ruby-red lipstick matched the dress perfectly. She liked how it made her look older, and a bit vampy, maybe.

Chuck seemed to share her opinion, as his eyes raked over her body tirelessly. It wasn't that she didn't like that, but it was... too much to handle. As a female voice continued to coo about summer love which "could be paradise, or twice as nice," she was glad she didn't accept that dance. But she was definitely going to google the song later.

She whipped out her new phone. "We have to synchronize our Blackberries," she told him. "The operation starts at ten, sharp. I'll need two and a half minutes for Serena. You have by 10:04 to bring Nate where he is supposed to be."

Chuck laughed. She made a production out of looking at him crossly, although she wasn't angry at all. She loved it when he laughed. It was almost like a promise that he did have a heart, alive and beating, somewhere.

"All right, all right, Moneypenny," he joked.  
Blair didn't hide her chuckle. He was impossible, but she was getting used to it.

At ten pm, sharp, she approached Serena, who was busy talking to Kati and Iz and flipping her hair, pretending that Nate wasn't three feet to her left. Nate, on the other hand, was pretending he was texting someone.

"S, I need your help," she said as she pulled her aside. "Come, we need some place quiet to talk. My room is locked, for obvious reasons." She rolled her eyes at the thought of what people usually did in unlocked (bed)rooms during parties. "I guess the pantry will do."

Having been dragged into the butler's pantry, a bewildered Serena demanded some answers. "What is it, B? What happened?"

"I'm sorry, S," Blair said. And she kind of was, because the look of concern on her best friend's perfect

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features was so honest. "I just have to make a phone call first." Serena's frown deepened. "Who are you going to call?"

"Penelope." Blair chose the name randomly. "She's got some explaining to do," she added, making a serious face.

"Is this about her flirting with Jeremy earlier?" Serena asked gently.

Blair nodded a little. Jeremy was at the party? But he had mumbled some lame apology about an important family dinner. Not that she cared. She looked down at her Blackberry.

"Oh," she gasped, feigning surprise, "my battery is empty. Lend me your phone?" She snatched Serena's iPhone from her hand. "Thanks." She smiled. "I'll just step outside. The signal here is terrible."

She was already outside when she decided to peer through the half-closed door of the pantry. "Wait for me, okay? I'll be back in a minute." She gave her friend another smile and hid behind a humongous potted plant which Dorota, quite inexplicably, adored.

The time on the display changed to 10:03. Where the hell was Chuck? Okay, not that she could actually see anything from the inconveniently positioned leaves, and he still had a minute, but-

"There you go," she heard his voice, which contained a good dose of amusement.

Then she heard a faint sound of a key turning in the lock, so she deserted her hiding place.

"Done." Chuck smiled, giving her the key back.

"How did-" she began, but was sidetracked by loud banging on the door of the pantry and muffled voices, which seemed to be saying, "Chuck, this isn't funny!" and "Blair, so help me God..."

Chuck and Blair snickered in unison.  
"How did you make him be so quiet?" she asked.

Chuck shrugged. "By promising him two hot chicks making out in the pantry." He leered at her. "That didn't happen, by any chance?"

She didn't deem that worthy of an answer. "I'll see you in an hour."  
"Give them half," Chuck said and she left him behind to mingle. She was the hostess, after all.

She spotted Jeremy near a table. Had she not been looking for him, she'd have probably missed him. He had blended into the décor, with his short-sleeved yellow button-down. Sure enough, Penelope was with him.

"Jeremy, I'm so glad you could make it!" Blair twittered with false enthusiasm. Her smile was

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genuine, though, as it was a caused by the funniest way in which Penelope's hand stopped mid-air. Her minion had changed her mind about touching Jeremy's hair "casually," it seemed.

Jeremy flashed his pearly-whites at her. "For you, Blair, always."

"Oh," Blair cooed, "you're so sweet." She grabbed a piece of melon and prosciutto from a plate and shoved it into his mouth. "Here, try these."

Jeremy looked shocked, but one of her flirty smiles seemed to appease him.  
"Penelope, may I have a word?" she said as she motioned to a quiet corner with her head.

"I'm sorry, B." The girl sounded miserable, but Blair knew better. "I had no idea you were interested in him," Penelope assured her. "I was just trying to make Anthony jealous."

Now Blair almost felt sorry for her. She even fought off the urge to tell her, "Only my friends call me B." For, either Penelope's eyes had a sparkle that Blair had failed to notice during all the years she'd known her, or she was on the verge of tears.

"It's okay, P." She smiled and patted her shoulder a little.

She didn't feel like spending the rest of the night comforting Penelope, who didn't even like her, though, so she continued to mingle. Interesting stuff was happening. Including Anthony Avuldsen, Nate's lacrosse buddy and Penelope's ex, trying to cop a feel at Little J. But Blair didn't have time for that. She needed to find Chuck. It was almost ten-thirty.

When she did find him (miraculously, talking to Luke and not shoving his tongue down someone's throat) and they unlocked the door to the butler's pantry exactly thirty-four minutes after they'd locked it, it turned out Chuck had been right. Their best friends were lip-locked. Nate's shirt was only half-closed and Serena's white Alice + Olivia dress was dangerously close to her hips.

Chuck cleared his throat. The blondes startled and gaped at them. Serena's face even turned an interesting shade of pink, though Blair didn't really get why, given her history.

"Carry on," Blair said nonchalantly, tossing the key to the floor beside them and closing the door. Thank God that they didn't actually keep any supplies in there, 'cause that would have been seriously gross.

She raised the champagne flute she was holding. Chuck did the same. "We make a mean team, Bass."  
"We do."  
They both smirked.

Yes, that had been a great party and a good weekend. Blair loved weekends. She hated Mondays. Not just because they marked the end of the weekend, but because Mondays meant Ms. Carr. Miss Iowa,

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Idaho or whatever was seriously grating on her nerves. She assigned so much homework that Blair had failed to choose a suitable song for AP French. They were supposed to look at the lyrics or something. Blair had thought she had the perfect song a week ago, but had since changed her mind. Now she had to skip gym, not that she was shedding tears over that. She was sitting in the empty courtyard, her iPod loud enough that she didn't have to put the earphones in her ears. They made her uncomfortable – not only because they didn't fit well, but because they made her feel like a Brooklyn hipster.

"If it isn't the Queen without her courtiers!" Blair sighed. Wasn't he ever in class? "Must be my lucky day," Chuck concluded.

"I'm busy," she told him briskly. "Whatever gruesome comment or heinous suggestion you have, I don't have time to hear it." God knew she couldn't have him distracting her while she was finishing her homework.

"Actually," he said, sitting down vis-à-vis her and disregarding her stern look. "I do have a proposition for you, but I wouldn't call it heinous."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you wouldn't."

"While I don't take AP Chemistry," he continued, untouched by her hostility, as per usual, "I apparently do take Chemistry. I think I was high during the registration." He seemed to ponder on that for a moment. "My father and the schools I'm applying to, however, won't be pleased if I manage to fail a course."

She tapped her fingers against the table. "Cut to the chase." "You will help me pass."

Blair smiled her I-pity-the-idiot smile. "You know, Bass," she said with as much condescension as she could muster, "when you're asking someone for a favor, it's usually a good idea not to phrase your plea as a demand."

"I'm not pleading." He frowned. "But I'm not demanding, either," he said, slightly softer. "I need you to help me pass chemistry, at least the midterm."

Now Blair frowned, in confusion. "What's in it for me?"

"You'll have all the dirt you want on anyone in St. Jude's and Constance faster than Gossip Girl herself."

"You overestimate yourself." That was not her idea of a good deal. "I have a PI on speed dial," he insisted.

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Blair pressed her fingertips together and thought about it for a minute. Being alone with him was not a good idea, especially if she wasn't going to act upon her... little infatuation. On the other hand, she wanted so desperately to see him more frequently.

"I'll give you one hour a week." "Hour and a half. Twice."

"My living room. Dorota will be present." She needed to lay down some rules if this was going to work.

"Who's Dorota?"  
"My maid."  
"Need a chaperone, Waldorf?" he taunted. "So afraid of being alone with me?" "No sleazy comments or innuendos allowed," she said coldly. "Take it or leave it." He was quiet for a couple of seconds. "Deal."

Blair did a little victory dance. In her head, of course. She had won. She was going to be spending more time with him, on her own terms. He needed to play by her rules if he wanted to keep his father happy, and Blair had no doubt he did.

"What are you doing?" he asked after a brief silence.  
Blair grimaced. She had almost managed to forget about the stupid homework, again.

"Trying to choose a suitable song for French," she answered, "and you're not helping." She rubbed her temples. "I wanted to bring a song titled 'Audrey,' but the way the guy, i.e. the French pronounce the name is horrible."

Chuck picked up her iPod.

"What are you doing?" She shook her head vehemently. "Your taste in music is non-existent. 'I've Had the Time of My Life,' really?"

As she said that, an idea crossed her mind and she was once again most pleasantly surprised at how cunning she was. "Or is _Dirty Dancing _one of the movies you watched with your mom?" she added.

She immediately regretted doing so, because his face darkened visibly.  
His voice was smooth, though, when he asked, "When did I ever watch movies with my mom?"

"So, you lied about _Pride and Prejudice_?" She knew that was the wrong thing to say. It revealed too much. But if Blair hated anything, she hated being lied to.

"Waldorf," he said teasingly, "I'm so glad you have our conversations committed to memory!"

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She bit her lip lightly, as though that could prevent her cheeks from turning into a more vivid color. She really should have started wearing more powder.

"But," Chuck went on, his voice losing the light note, "I probably said my mother has seen _Pride and Prejudice _– _Dirty Dancing _too, by the way – a dozen times. I would just sneak in and watch beside her. She was usually too wasted to notice."

Blair felt her face fall. She promptly rearranged her features, though. She knew that pity wouldn't sit well with him. How could he know that her heart was truly aching for him right now? And that she understood perfectly what he must have felt and what he was feeling at the moment. Because she knew how it had been when she would sit in the corner, eerily quiet for a five year old, because Eleanor could by no means be disturbed while she worked. She had thought that Mother at least knew she was there, until she once locked her up in the atelier and headed home. Of course it wasn't intentional and it was two days before her first Paris fashion week, but still...

The silence was heavier than the previous one. Blair didn't dare open her mouth. She didn't know what the right thing to say was.

"Let's see what you've got here," Chuck said finally, shattering the remains of the silence as he cranked up the volume on her iPod.

_Je veux d'l'amour, d'la joie, de la bonne humeur, Ce n'est pas votre argent qui f'ra mon bonheur... _

He laughed. She pouted in response.

"Really?" he said, quirking his eyebrows at her. "Isn't that more of a van der Woodsen thing? Free spirit, trading money for some imaginary freedom."

"As I said," Blair was offended, "I was going to bring 'Audrey.' This is one of the songs Roman put on my iPod." She shuddered as she was reminded of the man's insolence. Come on, Europeans had to know that you don't rummage through other people's stuff. Okay, her iPod might have been connected to his laptop, so what?

She turned her attention to Chuck again. He obviously was in sore need of a reminder who Blair Waldorf was. "As far as I'm concerned, whoever said that money doesn't buy happiness didn't know where to shop."

He grinned. "A girl after my own heart."  
At that, said girl's heart started doing somersaults.

"Good," he said. "I thought I'd have to resort to reciting 'Ciel! Amour! Liberté! Quel rêve, ô pauvre Folle!' to bring you to your senses."

Blair's mind reeled. Had he just...? Yes, he had; he'd said, "Heaven! Love! Freedom! What a dream, oh poor crazed Girl!"

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"Rimbaud?" She shook her head a little, her eyebrows almost knitting together. "Chuck Bass, I am impressed," she declared. "Although it figures that you'd read him, really – spleen, booze, sexual liberties. Sounds right up your alley."

"No, Blair Waldorf, _I _am impressed."

For a few moments, over which Blair knew she would obsess later, they just smiled at each other. Then his face became a closed book once again. She struggled to keep hers neutral and not to show her disappointment.

"Not only do you know Rimbaud when you hear him," he said, "but you've also managed to capture the essence of Chuck Bass in four little words."

"Let's just make it clear that I do prefer women. And I'm not that sure about the spleen part," he added.

But she was. It was obvious that spleen, melancholy, was not an unfamiliar state of mind for him. "Nice accent, by the way," she offered instead.  
"Well, my mother _is _half-French. So was my first nanny." He shrugged.  
Blair let another bout of silence settle between them. It wasn't that uncomfortable.

He was the first one to speak again. "Is tomorrow after school okay?" "Yes." She nodded.

He got up from the bench and turned to leave. Then he stopped abruptly, as if he remembered something. "Thank you."

Blair just smiled a little.

As she watched him walk towards the gate, she was acutely aware of one thing: the "no acting upon this crush" rule was history, even though she wasn't quite sure what her feelings were anymore. She didn't know how to classify them. What she did know was what that look, the one he had given her before he returned to his shell, had meant. She knew because it had been a reflection of the one she had noticed that very morning, when she was putting her lip gloss on and thinking about him

Warmth was spreading from her belly to her chest and up to her cheeks and down to her toes. There was no doubt about it, she "melted to him as snow does to a fire," or at least she was in the middle of melting. It was worth it, though, it would be worth it; she knew it. They were so alike. And he made her feel all those excruciatingly wonderful things. He would have to learn to behave like a proper... _boyfriend_, of course, but even that could be fun. And if it... if they didn't work out, she could always move on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Three Wishes **

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_We'd be so less fragile if we were made from metal, and our hearts from iron, and our minds from steel. _

Blair pursed her lips into the pout her mother hated, but which her current company seemed to be fond of. "Seriously, Bass, it's getting creepy," she pretended to complain.

"This may come as a surprise to you, Waldorf," Chuck said as he put his Montblanc pen down, "but I wasn't looking at you."

She let her raised eyebrows question the truthfulness of his statement.  
"I was actually thinking about the problem." He slid his notebook to her across the table.

Her flirty pout turning into an offended one, she grabbed the notebook with both hands and held it up before her face. "Let's see if you still have a couple of neurons left," she said haughtily.

After a minute, she grumbled, "Not bad." She wasn't sure why, but the fact that he wasn't an idiot, and in fact had pretty good analytical skills, thrilled her and irked her in equal parts.

"Not bad?" He smirked. "Admit it, Waldorf, I'm a natural."

"You _have _made a significant progress in these three weeks, especially if we take into account that you had no idea the periodic table of the elements existed," she told him in her best Headmistress Queller voice. "But I suspect that you have to thank me and my superior teaching skills for that."

She got up from her chair and sashayed to to the antique oak shelf on which she had "accidentally" left her phone. She bent down to get a textbook out of her green Mulberry Alexa, which she had "carelessly" dropped down next to the shelf when she and Chuck walked into her living/dining room, having met in the lobby. Then she faked checking her email, although it was obvious that nothing new had arrived, as the indicator on her Blackberry wasn't flashing. When she finally decided that he'd had enough time to take in her Wolfords with a geometrical pattern which flattered her legs and her an-inch-shorter-than-usual skirt, she strutted back to the table. The strutting – and God knew what else of her little performance – had gone to waste, however, because Chuck's eyes were firmly planted on his notebook.

She restrained a sigh of impatience. "There is a shorter way of solving that problem than the one you used, though," she said, keeping her voice neutral, as she took a seat next to him.

She pulled the notebook towards her and took the pen from his hand, letting her fingers linger on his for a moment. He looked at her, and his eyes – which haunted her at night – combined with that indescribable, almost feverish feeling she would get whenever they touched, nearly made her head spin. She knew this was a dangerous game she was playing. She could slip up and lose any moment.

"Let's see," she murmured, flipping her hair in the way that Serena did and leaving her neck exposed.

She had noticed that – during their brief, not very fruitful, encounters in the Hamptons, at school and his father's dinner – (apart from her thighs, at which he'd definitely stared an infinite number of times) Chuck paid certain attention to her neck. Then she'd heard through the grapevine – okay, she

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"overheard" L'Whore – that he did indeed have a penchant for that part of the female body.

Therefore, she had even made sure that she spritzed some J'adore behind her ears when she went to her room to get her chem book. And not the ordinary J'adore, but the jasmine one. Everybody knew that the scent of jasmine was an aphrodisiac. Why wasn't he devouring her neck, simultaneously ripping off her clothes, like he did in her half-awake dreams, then? She hadn't made Dorota go out to buy tea and then prepare it for nothing, dammit! Maybe she should try musk next time, or even pheromones.

She wrote one formula after another furiously, with a steady hand, though she was ready to burst into tears of sheer frustration. When she had said "no sleazy comments or innuendos allowed," she hadn't really expected him to behave like a perfect gentleman all the time during their lessons. And out of "class," he was still the old pervy Chuck, though,... sort of.

The day after their courtyard talk about Rimbaud, he'd texted, _Since you like me quoting poetry, here's something for you: _

_'Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song: then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, _

_And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust.' _

Her face turned scarlet and her mouth twitched in anger at the mention of her maidenhood. How dared he? Whether she was a virgin or not wasn't his business. For now. Yes, she _had _been toying with the idea of him... making her a woman. But only once he was an exemplary boyfriend, of course.

_That's where you're wrong, Bass, _she replied. _I don't like you in any shape or form. And here's something that describes you perfectly: _

_'I will love thee – half a year – As a man is able.' _

_N. B. I might be using 'love' as a euphemism. And don't forget to substitute 'year' with 'week.' _His response came swiftly. _Can't argue with that. But just think what a week that would be... _

_Sorry, have better offers, _she typed, her fingers hitting wrong keys a couple of times. He hadn't been supposed to say _that_. She didn't know what he _had _been supposed to say, but this wasn't it.

_You can't be serious. The things I could do to you...  
This non-conversation is officially over, _she stupidly replied, instead of proving her point by ignoring

him.

_Disappointed you didn't get a play-by-play? You have to tell me what you're wearing first. _

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This time, she shoved her Blackberry into the nearest bag. She could always read her email on an actual computer, right? Well, when she barely managed to spend fifteen minutes without her phone and checked it, there were no new messages anyway.

From time to time, he would send her another innuendo-laced text, or two, or would say something highly inappropriate when they would pass each other at school. However, those occasions were so few and far in between that she had almost began to crave them, even when her insupportable minions were around. And during their lessons, he was always impeccably polite, just like they had agreed. Too bad she'd changed her mind.

She looked at him sideways, as though she was making sure he was following. "Get it?" He just nodded, and she focused on the paper again as disappointment flooded her.

"I'll try to solve this one using the same method," she said. Suddenly she wished she hadn't sent Dorota away. What was the point in being alone with him if he just sat there like a statue?

It wasn't that she would actually let him rip her clothes off. This was real life, not a dream. And in real life, she had to have the upper hand. Always. And to have it, she needed to know without a shadow of a doubt that his feelings for her at the very least matched hers for him – whatever they were. Right now, she would settle for a passionate plea for bending her rules a little. Naturally, like the queen she was, she would be firm, but not completely unsympathetic to the suffering of her subject. She would grant him a kiss or two.

She cocked her head a little, unable to recall the number of protons in lead with all her multitasking. Then she bent across the table, reaching for her periodic table printout. As she fell back into her chair, even as absorbed in the problem as she was, she felt his eyes on her. They burnt her skin in a most pleasurable way.

"Oh, you do have superior skills." His low voice sent chills down her spine.

She had to bite her cheeks not to give herself away by smiling. In what she knew was the most graceful, Audrey-like move, she angled her face towards him and gave him a questioning look.

"I know what you're trying to do, Blair," he said, but she didn't even care about his words when – beneath his cool demeanor – there was what she had longed to find. Although he continued to sit on her mother's favorite chair perfectly motionless, there was it, in his darker-than-night eyes and his deep voice: a fire that mirrored her own.

"But you should know I hate losing, too." It sounded like a warning.

Her lips parted, but no words came. It wasn't that she hadn't suspected she wasn't the only one playing a game. But why was he telling her this? And wasn't the "consolation" prize worth it? Would it really be losing if breaking their deal meant he could have her?

"Would it be..." she started, hating the way the words tumbled out of her mouth against her will, or

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maybe just her better judgment.

He was looking at her expectantly and her mouth went dry. She wasn't certain what that expression on his face meant, but his eyes implored her to continue. And, if finishing her sentence would mean that he would look at her like that every day, finish her sentence she would. But that erratic, though familiar, fluttering in her stomach and against her ribcage was making it all so difficult. She moistened her lower lip and bit it, gathering courage.

As she finally managed to open her mouth again, the door opened too, more loudly than usual. Dorota slammed her favorite silver Tiffany tray onto the table in front of her.

"Your tea, Miss Blair," she growled, and Blair was appalled. Yet, after taking a somewhat more careful look at her maid – more like her substitute mother, if she was being honest, she held her tongue. Dorota's usually tidily pulled back hair was frizzy all over and her nose was red. It seemed that she hadn't counted on the rain, and Blair had the decency to feel slightly ashamed for having told her not to come back without white peony tea, which she had known was out of stock at Rohrs'.

"Next time just say go out and I..." Dorota's embarrassing mumbling, thankfully, got muffled once she was out of the room.

"About next time," Chuck drawled and Blair forced herself to look at him, although she knew her peach blush was now sprinkled with angry red patches.

"What about it?" she asked briskly.  
"I won't be able to make it on Tuesday."

She shrugged. "Me neither, actually." Seeing that he was eying her suspiciously, she added, "I'm doing this thing with my mom. Well, for my mom, actually." Her voice resounded with pride.

"She's doing an exclusive holiday line for Neiman Marcus and I'm modeling it," she explained with forced flippancy, shrugging again as her lips curled into a little grin.

Her grin turned into a frown, though, matching the one Chuck was sporting.

"Are you sure you want to expose yourself like that?"

"What are you trying to say?" she said sharply, trying not to snap. That she wasn't beautiful enough?

"There are all sorts of perverts out there who are going to see those photos," he said.

She had to laugh at the dead-seriousness of his voice. "I've got a perv in my apartment right now, Bass." She rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's not like I'm doing a shoot for La Perla."

A lazy grin emerged on his face. "Make it Agent Provocateur," he said. "And I'll be ecstatic to arrange a private one, in my room."

"Dream on," she twittered in her queen-bee manner, but their identical smiles carried the promise of

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what was going to come... in the future... a future which would include his room and her room and Agent Provocateur and La Perla and Kiki de Montparnasse and Jenny Packham and... so, so many more beautiful things.

"What are _you _doing on Tuesday?" she asked, breaking the silence. "Going to show my dad Victrola, the club I want the company to buy."

Sensing a crack in his seemingly indestructible self-confidence, she smiled at him. "He's going to love it."

"How do you know that?" He basically blurted the question out, which was extremely unusual.

She gave him another smile. "Because I already like it because of its silly, old-fashioned name. And I'm hard to please."

The leer that followed this assertion wasn't unexpected. "Are you-"

"Zip it up. Now." Gosh, was it wrong that she enjoyed their dirty little exchanges so much? Or was it wrong that she was putting so much effort into cutting them short?

He opened his messenger bag – Blair still found it somehow so... _cute _that Chuck Bass actually had a school bag – and stuffed his notebook and textbook into it. Then he pulled something out. "When we're at our parents, my dad sent this." He put a moss-grin folder embossed with "BI" in front of her. "He said your mom would know what that is. They agreed it wasn't urgent enough to have it sent to Paris or something."

Blair scowled as she surveyed the golden letters. There was something about this that didn't feel quite right, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

It hit her when she looked up at Chuck. "Your father knows I've been tutoring you?"

"I do object to your word choice." He frowned briefly. "I haven't told him. Maybe Arthur did." He shrugged, referring to his limo driver. "Or his P. I."

Blair's eyes rounded. "Your father's got a P. I. on you?"  
"My father's got a P. I. on everyone," he said. He didn't seem disturbed by that fact in the least bit.

"Why am I even surprised?" she muttered. "It's not like you don't have one of your own." She shuddered a little as a thought crossed her mind. "Don't you dare make him look me up or something," she warned him.

He grinned, almost showing his wisdom teeth, and she felt a sudden urge to slap him (among other things).

"Relax, Waldorf," he told her at last, "he's for business only. That's how things work, kid."

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She let out a little half-snort, unable to contain herself, though such behavior was hardly ladylike. "'Kid?'" she rolled her eyes at him. "What are you, Mister Big?"

He smirked, and she held a hand up as he opened his mouth. "I don't want to know."

"Your loss," he said cockily as he got up. "Besides, how can you be so sure that you know what I wanted to say?"

She got up, too. "Because you're too predictable, Bass." "Or maybe we're just too similar."

At this, she felt her chest swell in that now-familiar way. He knew it, too! She didn't even have the time to start processing this, though, before he leaned in. His lips brushed slowly against her cheek, close to her jaw. She stopped feeling her toes. In fact, all she could feel was the lingering warmth on her cool cheek and something hammering wildly inside her.

"See you next week, Waldorf." His fingertips traced the spot his lips had just caressed. "Do email me some high-resolution dressing-room photos." And he was out the door.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make sense of what had just happened. What he had done... It felt so intimate, like something a lover would do. But they were still... well, not nothing, but... they still weren't just there, not yet. Though they might have been, had he been willing to... lose.

Her eyes snapped open and she started walking around the room, unsettled. Why hadn't he gone ahead with it, kissed her... or whatever. In a way, he would have won. Why miss the chance to beat her and gloat about that? If she refused to see him any longer, for breaching their agreement, he could continue studying on his own... or simply get a tutor, like he could have done in the first place... She smiled as she stroke the petals of the white and purple lilacs absent-mindedly, that warm feeling enveloping her again. He wanted to spend time with her and he'd warned her instead of taking advantage of her.

"Drink your tea, Miss Blair," a gentle voice called from behind her, "before it get cold." She turned around, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth up. "I'm sorry, Dorota."

"I understand, Miss Blair." She nodded, her face softening even more. "Now drink your tea," she added sternly.

"All right, Dorota." Blair laughed. "Let's have some tea."

As they enjoyed the somewhat tepid drink (Blair even allowing herself two Chips Ahoys, the cookies her mother had put a ban on soon after she turned thirteen), Dorota talked.

"I met Vanya," she said, "from old country. Well, not from old country, but I met him in Krakow Christmas 1990."

Stirring her tea, Blair smiled. Was Dorota in love? How wonderful!

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"He work at Mister Bass building on Fifth," Dorota went on, "but he used to work at Palace. I mention Mister Chuck and..."

Blair's eyes went wide as she fought not to scream the woman's name in reproach. "... he says Mister Chuck not good."  
Blair had to roll her eyes. How predictable.  
"Mister Chuck good with employees, Vanya says, but Mister Chuck bad with girls." Blair opened her mouth, but Dorota intercepted her.

"I tell him," she put her hand over Blair's, "maybe Mister Chuck bad with girls, but Mister Chuck good with Miss Blair." She was beaming, and Blair knew she was, as well. "He is different with you, Miss Blair."

"He is different with you," she whispered Dorota's words as she curled into a ball under her duvet that night.

He cared, she knew he did. And she would give him some more time to come to terms with... everything, with the fact that he was going to have a real girlfriend. That would also give her some more time to make him a more socially acceptable choice in her circles.

"We will be together by my birthday," she decided. After all, it was only a bit more than a month away.

By four o'clock on Tuesday, Blair's blood had already boiled with anger more times than it had in the previous couple of months.

"That's great, I said. Really, who better than Blair to represent geek chic?" Whoregina laughed throatily and the photographer offered a hint of a smile in return.

Blair, who just reemerged from her dressing room, was just about to tell something venomous when Serena grabbed her by the hand.

"Are you ready, B?" she chirped, swinging their intertwined hands. "This is so exciting!"

Blair pulled her hand away, disregarding her friend's gushing completely. "Yes, well," she said snottily, "it would all be so much better if some people weren't here." She raised her eyebrows significantly; she didn't even have to point at Georgina with her eyes.

Serena looked uncomfortable, which was completely deserved, in Blair's honest opinion. "I'm sorry, B." She made an apologetic face. "She seemed like she was in dire need of a distraction."

They both glanced towards Georgina, who was typing away violently on her iPhone. An evil smile graced Blair's features.

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"I wouldn't bother if I were you," she started speaking even before she reached her least favorite person in the entire world, so that Serena could do nothing. "I hear Baizen's daddy's cut him off, so he's flying to Monte Carlo to try his luck or something." She rearranged her face into a mask of pity. "So cruel of his dad if you ask me. What is he going to do there without you? Or who?" She smiled. "You do know that he hit on both Penelope and L'Wren last Friday night, right?"

She paused briefly, but she definitely had more things to say to the leech who had shown up with Serena uninvited. At least if her friend had brought Nate, who seemed to be with her all the time now (not that Blair complained... much), he would be quiet in some corner and not getting on her nerves. And, given the fact that they were at the Villard Mansion – that is, the Palace – maybe he would even find Chuck... not that she would actually want her photos to be taken with him present...

"Honestly, Georgina," she resumed after taking a deep breath, but was interrupted almost immediately.

"Let me see you, my dear!" Eleanor exclaimed as she finally showed up. Her delayed flight from Paris, to which she'd had to fly again two days ago, was the reason the shoot was barely starting instead of being wrapped up. "You look absolutely fabulous!"

While she was being twirled around, Blair couldn't but smile widely. True, maybe the day hadn't exactly started great, but everything was going to be more than fine. How could it not be? How, when she was lovely in all those wool skirts, cashmere sweaters and colorful tights, and even Mother thought so?

"Nice to see you, Georgina, dear," Eleanor briefly, and pretty coldly, addressed Georgina before she turned to Blair again. "Have you had the final fitting with Laurel for the Drawing Room part?"

Blair just nodded happily. She would be even more beautiful in those dresses. She could wear the red one... well, not that she was going to be spending Christmas with Chuck, that would probably be too soon. But the dress could be perfect for the New Year's Eve, too.

"Okay, ladies, let's get down to work." Mike, one of the photographer's assistants, smiled. Blair smiled back.

After that, it was all a disaster. Her worst nightmare, if you wish. It seemed she couldn't do anything right. She blindly obeyed – move your head an inch to the left, tilt your chin, jut your hip forward, smile less widely. Nothing worked. "Too stiff," she thought she'd heard the photographer mumble under his breath before he sent her to a break.

Her index fingers placed horizontally in front of her eyes, she let her tear-laced eyelashes flutter over them, so as not to smudge her makeup. The mascara was probably waterproof, but she wouldn't put it past herself to ruin the unruinable.

"Hey." The bathroom door clicked softly and a mass of blonde hair appeared, accompanied by the most tender of voices. "You were good out there."

"I was terrible," Blair said matter-of-factly, looking at herself in the mirror, this time with disgust. Not

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even Serena could get away with pretending to be that clueless.

"You may want to spice it up a little, try different things." The blonde hugged her shoulders from behind. "At least that's what they were telling me during my modeling days." She laughed her signature girly laugh.

Blair forced a smile. "You mean, during that one print ad you did for Gap when you were twelve?" "Details, details." Serena grinned. "Now let's show them who Blair Waldorf is."

And show them they did. It was easy with Serena. She was so spontaneous, so natural, that it would somehow rub off you. She knew how to angle her head, how to flip her hair, cross her legs. She knew how to "make love to the camera," as Ross, the photographer, and his team put it. But she was also a good friend and she knew how to make Blair look good, or at least less bad.

Still, even in her flowy pink top and scuffed jeans, she looked a million times better than her in all the photos, Blair thought miserably as she was taking another short break.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so.

"She is beautiful, Laurel," Ross said to her mother's assistant in a hushed voice. "But this girl... this girl is gorgeous and the camera adores her."

"Yes," Laurel was equally quiet, "but Blair is Eleanor's daughter and..."

Having heard enough, Blair hurried past them, her head high and her face a mask of indifference. She only jumped out of the frying pan into the fire, though, she realized when she saw the telltale Alexander McQueen skull-printed scarf right in front of her. Only one person, who must have been having the time of her life watching her fail spectacularly, wore dead people's heads on her. And she was talking to her mother, of all people.

"Mother." Blair mustered enough strength for an uneasy smile. "Blair, darling..."

Eleanor's smile was jerky, and her entire countenance wasn't inspiring confidence in Blair. She batted her lashes rapidly a few times, dispersing the tears that were gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"I was just going to talk to you," her mother continued. "If you could give us a moment alone, Georgina, dear," she ordered.

"Of course, Mrs. Waldorf." Whoregina grinned her toothy vampire grin before she disappeared into a shadow, where she would continue lurking, no doubt,

Eleanor tipped her head towards two chairs lined against the wall, and Blair took the hint.

"Blair," she started, her voice unusually wary, "you look beautiful." She took her hands in hers, like she sometimes used to do when she was a child. Blair knew that nothing good had ever happened in

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those situations, and she was pretty sure she knew where this was heading.  
"I can see that," Eleanor went on, "Ross can see that, everybody can. But the camera can't."

"What do you want to say, Mother?" Blair forced herself to ask when her mother paused. She tried to pull her hands away, but Eleanor wouldn't let her.

Another person would have taken a deep breath, or made another lengthy introduction. Blair knew her mother wouldn't.

"It would be better if Serena did the campaign," Eleanor said simply, in her business tone.

She did what had to be done. Ruthlessly, just like she would, Blair thought. It didn't make it hurt any less.

This time she managed to tear her hands away from her mother's. Not that the woman had protested much.

"Look, Blair," Eleanor sounded a little irritated, "you have to understand that the company cannot suffer, not in these uncertain times."

"Of course, the Company, always the Company!" As she sprung up from the chair, Blair didn't even care that her voice was raising with every word she said. "What's a daughter in comparison to _the _Company?"

Eleanor, on the other hand, seemed to be scandalized. "Look, darling, don't be so melodramatic, don't make a scene. You have to understand," she hurried, "I would never forgive myself if-"

"I hope you never do," Blair spat out through clenched teeth.  
As on cue, a cheery voice erupted from behind her, "Are you ready to rock on, B?"

Blair spun around, every fiber of her being trembling with anger. "No, no, Serena, I'm not," she said, surprisingly managing to keep her voice in check without too much effort. "But you are." She gave the other girl a smile which seemed to frighten her.

"Congratulation, S!" she twittered. "You are the new face of Eleanor Waldorf's," as she neared the end of the sentences, her voice got got dangerously close to breaking, "exclusive Christmas line for Neiman Marcus!"

"What?" Serena's flabbergasted face would have been funny under different circumstances. "No, no, I'm not," she hurried. "I'm _not_!"

It was Serena's eyes that prevented her from breaking then and there. Blair Waldorf didn't accept anyone's pity. Blair Waldorf accepted defeat dignified.

"Yes," she nodded sharply, "yes, you are." She offered her a little smile, which must have looked grotesque. "Now go get ready, pronto! It's okay, really. I understand. We must think about the

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company."  
As she blabbered on, the crease between Serena's brows deepened. "Blair, I don't-"

"You don't want to be silly," Blair did her best imitation of her friend's chirpy voice. "I understand, I really do." She patted Serena's arm awkwardly and turned to leave.

"Blair!" Serena called after her, but must have been kept back by Eleanor or one of her minions because she didn't appear in her dressing room.

"Dressing room!" Blair scoffed under her breath as she tore her mother's creations off of her and threw them onto the floor. It wasn't like Serena could use them anyway. They must be bringing her her size right now, the size for the tall, skinny and gorgeous.

She found the clothes she had come in and looked at them hatefully. Well, she'd rather wear that than anything that had her mother's lying and betraying fingerprints all over it. So she threw on her simple white blouse over a camisole and then her new pair of 7 for All Mankind jeans. She had bought them especially for... _this_, as she had read that models always came to the shoot dressed simply. How stupid could she get, really! She hurled her headband into a corner. Pathetic girls didn't wear crowns...

Having finally slipped into her Revas and fastened her Burberry trench, she snuck out of the Villard Mansion. She was extremely careful not to bump into anyone, but that turned to be unnecessary – nobody spared her a look. Not even Georgina was there to torment her.

As she exited into the Palace courtyard, a gust of merciless mid-October wind hit her. She felt tears prickle her eyes again.

"Stupid wind!" she muttered.

But even she, the Queen of Denial, knew it wasn't the wind. Soon enough she was striding blindly towards the gate. She ran into a couple and narrowly missed a little girl whose mother promptly chided her in a disgusting accent. Turning away from the Texan woman, she instantly bumped into someone else.

"What are you doing, Waldorf?" Chuck asked as he caught her by the arms, helping her not to lose her balance. "It's a little to early for you to be drinking, isn't it?"

"Why? It's not like it's too early for you," she shot back, taking notice of the not-so-faint smell of scotch emanating from him.

"Some of us have problems, Waldorf," he said in a world-weary voice and she gaped at his insensitivity.

"Oh, really?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and she didn't even have to make an effort. Here she was, crying and disoriented, and he had problems? Then again, as she took a closer look at him, she noticed that not only his tie was amiss. His business-formal suit was all rumpled and his eyes were bloodshot.

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"Blair," he said before she could speak up, "what's going on?" It seemed that he had taken a closer look at her, as well.

She just looked down. How could she tell anyone such a pathetic little story? "What's going on?" he repeated, tilting her chin up slightly.

At the gentleness of the gesture and of his voice, she almost started crying again. But she kept herself in check. She couldn't scare him away with her craziness. Mother had been right – it was her fault, she didn't know how to have her picture taken. So she countered with a question of her own.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He shrugged. "Not much. Bart didn't go for my proposal. I think he said something about me wanting his precious Bass Industries to throw money into a lowlife den." He laughed hollowly.

It felt like twisting the knife in her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

A frown crossed his face, but he just shrugged flippantly one more time. And diverted the conversation towards her again. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing." It was her turn to shrug. "I guess Neiman Marcus won't have my photos after all." The intensity of his gaze making her look away, she added almost silently, "It seems I'm beautiful, but too stiff and I don't know how to make love to the camera." In other words, she _was _the frigid bitch he had thought – or still thought – she was.

"You're not beautiful." He tilted her chin again, forcing her to look at him. "You are gorgeous."

She looked down again. Why was he making her believe that? It was so cruel, when no one else thought so. Yet, no one else would be important, not if he was being honest.

"As for the rest of that," he said, "they have no idea what they're talking about. And I'm glad they don't."

As waves of that hot-and-cold feeling she got when she was with him started hitting her harder and harder, she finally noticed her hand was in his. His thumb was rubbing little circles into the valley between her thumb and index finger. And everything was... not okay, but better.

"Making love to the camera," he muttered disgruntledly. "I would have thought your mother had more class than to hire someone who talked like that."

She almost laughed at the disgust in his voice. It did all sound so ridiculous, so how could it hurt so much?

"Want me to take you home?"  
She shook her head vehemently. She wasn't ready to go home.

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"Yes," he said, "I don't really feel like going _home _yet, either."

They stood in silence for a while, hand in hand, completely alone in the yard. It was so quiet that the whizzing of the autumn wind sounded like a thunderstorm to her ears. Dusk was already setting in, and she feared he would let her go home after all.

"What about Victrola?" he suggested finally. "It's a great place to escape and, thus, forget... Or at least I thought so."

She nodded.

_I just wanna be free, man. _

_I just wanna be free... _

Music of some Brooklyn-based indie band – or so she assumed because it sounded like something that her former best friend/her mother's new model would listen – was blaring as Blair followed Chuck through the dark corridor.

'How very fitting to the situation,' she thought wryly.

When they finally reached the main room, her eyes dashed around and she was soon staring at Chuck in awe. The place really was perfect. It could have easily been a replica of some speakeasy from one of the Prohibition era books she'd read. It was nothing like that seedy strip joint she'd had to enter with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and Kati on a dare. This place... this place was classy, with its crimson plush sofas, tasseled curtain and girls in beautifully crafted corsets and layers of pearls which undulated together with them.

As Chuck and she sat down on one of the art deco sofas and a long-haired amazon approached them, she quickly changed her mind, however.

The woman practically bent forward, her ample bosom nearly spilling out of her corset, her butt sticking out. She smiled and whispered something in Chuck's ear. Blair thought she was going to be sick.

"As you can see, Michelle, I've got company. We won't be needing you," Chuck said impassively.

That didn't do much to relieve Blair's nausea. He knew the slut's name? She should have known. She needed to stop making up stories and ascribing him qualities he didn't possess.

The woman smiled at Blair, who glared at her with fervor in response, acutely aware of her poor choice of clothing. _Michelle _seemed mostly amused by that, so Blair puffed and turned her face away from her, her nose upturned.

When she turned around again a few minutes afterwards, she found Chuck staring at her, the slut – hopefully – gone forever. She managed a smile. "I love this place." Seeing his mood was about to darken again, she started talking more quickly, "I really do. It's sophisticated. It's nothing like a strip club... well, except for that Michelle girl."

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He gave her a lazy grin. "And how do you know what a strip club looks like?"

"I've got my secrets, Bass." She grinned back, removing her Blackberry from her bag and placing it on the table. Daddy had promised to call.

They sat in a comfortable silence for some time. Blair watched the dancers with admiration, occasionally bobbing her head to the music. This song she knew. Nate would play it all the time in the Hamptons.

_We'll walk around, pretending we're all grown up... _

Just like she and Chuck did. Just like they all did on the Upper East Side. It all took a lot of strength; it was truly more than exhausting at times... She shook her head. She didn't want to think about any of those things right now. She had come here to escape; that was what this place was for.

She turned her attention to the girls on the stage again. It took a lot of courage, a lot of confidence to do what they did. She could never... Oh, but she could! She remembered her little performance in the Hamptons and blushed. How silly she must have looked, especially in comparison to these women!

She cast a look at Chuck, only to discover that he wasn't even looking at those girls. He was looking at her. Something akin to pride surged through her. He really did like her. Her lips curled into a little smile. It was funny, kind of – he had ogled her for months now, but he hadn't even kissed her. On the other hand, maybe that should worry her...

While she pondered on that, Michelle reappeared, bringing champagne and strawberries.  
"Lovely song, right?" she said conversationally as she filled their flutes with the '95 Clos du Mesnil. _Hey rich girl, well, can you tell me why you're so stuck-up?  
_She smiled at Blair, who didn't appreciate the gesture and just twisted her mouth in disdain.  
"That would be all. Thank you, Michelle," Chuck said wearily.

As the girl was finally leaving, Blair inspected the strawberries. She picked up a plain one and dropped it into her champagne. She and Serena always did that, that is, she and her ex-(best-)friend always did that. In an attempt to forget the stinging betrayal of two of the three most important women in her life, she reached for another strawberry.

Chuck was faster. He held up a chocolate-dipped piece of fruit for her and she hesitated. She knew what she wanted to do, but was that appropriate? She looked at him; the feeling she had come to identify as maybe-desire was burning clearly in his eyes. Fuck appropriate. To him she was gorgeous. He thought she was hotter than these girls.

So she bit into the strawberry, the chocolate melting in her mouth. She darted her tongue out to catch a piece of it stuck on her lower lip and grazed his finger. She would later wonder why she hadn't been embarrassed. She would have expected of herself to have been - not only because what they were doing was a complete cliché, but mostly because she was being so overtly sexual, and in a public

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place. Yet, shame was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment, as she licked the juice off her lips without breaking her eye contact with Chuck.

He reached for another strawberry and she watched him with anticipation. Maybe this club had something... more private. The Palace wasn't too far away, either. It wasn't going to be the way she had always planned, but that would be just another thing in her life that wouldn't fit into her pre-made puzzle. Besides, this had to be right, this all-over tingling was telling her that much. As she tucked into the new strawberry, she tried to remember how much time it took them to come here from the hotel.

Her calculations were interrupted by someone's rather loud and deliberate throat-clearing, though. Miffed at the distraction, she glanced to her left. Hadn't she been too paralyzed, she would have certainly jumped to her corner of the sofa, as far away from Chuck as possible.

Dear Lord, she'd just been caught furiously eye-sexing Chuck Bass! While he was feeding her strawberries! At a burlesque club! By his father! That wasn't happening, that wasn't happening, that wasn't happening... That was just a dream, a bad one... OMG, what could possibly be more embarrassing? Maybe only being caught doing what she had been contemplating, that is, having non-eye sex. She mentally slapped herself as she felt blood rush to her face.

"Charles," Bart Bass said in his business manner, "I thought I'd find you here."

"Father," Chuck acknowledged his presence. Blair chanced a quick sideways look at him, and he didn't seem too happy with their predicament either, judging from the tension in his neck.

"It's nice to see you, Blair," the man addressed her, and it was now certain that this was really happening. And she wasn't going to be spared.

She straightened and crossed her legs at the ankles, like a good schoolgirl. Then she forced herself to draw her eyes to his face. "Mr. Bass." She nodded.

He smiled at her, and – if Bart Bass were an ordinary human being, and not a bit scarier version of her mother – she would have sworn his eyes _twinkled_, with amusement. She nearly choked on air.

"Charles," thankfully, he refocused his attention on his son, "I came here to say that perhaps I was too hasty this morning. As you know, I have been trying to re-brand the company, the Palace redecoration being a part of that process. I have read your proposal again and I believe that this club may be one of the things to give the company a more modern look."

During this monologue, Blair stared at Chuck as inconspicuously as she could. His face remained emotionless, but his tension somewhat dissipated.

"Are you being serious?" he asked.

"I couldn't be more serious," his father replied. "Something has come up in Santa Barbara and I'm flying there in an hour, but I'll be back tomorrow evening and we'll go over some details." He offered his hand to Chuck, who got up and shook it.

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As soon as the man was out of sight, Chuck slumped back into the sofa.

"I told you he was going to love it," she said half-teasingly. That was the only thing she could think of.

In a fit of boldness, she swept a strand of hair away from his forehead. Before she could think of what to do with her hand now and not seem utterly awkward, he took it. She smiled. They were holding hands again. That was what couples did. He lowered her hand and pressed his lips on it. She dissolved, but not for long, because her Blackberry chose to spoil the moment. It was buzzing so hard that it threatened to knock off a champagne flute.

She glanced at the screen and pressed the "end call" button. Chuck's eyes were questioning her, but he said nothing.

When the phone buzzed again, though, he asked, "Aren't you going to take that?"

She shook her head and threw the Blackberry into her bag. She had no slightest desire to talk to her mother; ever again, actually.

"You know what I've been thinking?" She smiled as she changed the subject, but this smile wasn't another mask to add to the collection she'd worn that day. She didn't have to pretend. She knew that he knew what was wrong and he knew it wasn't the time to pressure her. So she smiled again, and then she continued talking, not waiting for him to say something. "This place is going to be perfect for my birthday party!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: To the Moon and Back **

_Somewhere in a private place she packs her bags for outer space. _

Blair scrunched up her nose in utter contempt as Cyrus (what a name, really!) This-or-That laughed his piggy laugh and squealed, "Not enough!" at her mother for what was at least the third time in the last five minutes. What was even worse was that Eleanor seemed to enjoy it. Her eyes had a glint that Blair hadn't seen for a long time, not since Daddy had... Probably the hormones... What a disgusting thought! She downed her glass of water, shuddering with revulsion.

"That's magnificent, Eleanor! You're just magnificent!" The piggy laugh again.

Blair shuddered again as she took another glass from a cater waiter. She glanced towards the elevator hopefully, anxious for more interesting guests to arrive and save her from watching her mother's humiliation. Honestly, didn't that man even know that if the invite said eight pm, you weren't supposed to actually show up at exactly eight pm, let alone at seven-fifty? Worse, didn't he know that it was impolite to come to a fashion designer's home wearing a shabby Hugo Boss that looked like it had been bought on Canal Street or at least at Off the Fifth several decades ago? Plus, he was short, fat and bald! He was even worse than that lawyer of Charlotte's (What? It had been Iz's birthday, they'd had to watch what she wanted... for a while.)...

Her mother, if she truly was interested in the gnome beyond a one-night stand (Gross! Blair shuddered

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for the umpteenth time. Mother's were supposed to be asexual!)... well, she was headed straight for social destruction. And as much as Blair didn't like her lately, she hadn't been intending to just stand and watch that train wreck. Regretfully, Eleanor seemed to know all her moves and had threatened – sottovoce, of course – to rethink her birthday party at the last moment. As the invites, unfortunately, hadn't been sent – Little J suddenly had a life or a hippie dad or something – Blair had grudgingly retracted her perfectly manicured claws and continued to swirl her glass idly.

There was finally something that resembled the sound of their elevator and she abandoned all thoughts of the stout little man who had somehow scored an invitation to her mother's soirée. Countless tiny butterflies erupted in her stomach as she turned her eyes towards the foyer. Bart Bass had, naturally, been invited to pre-celebrate the launch of her mother's Neiman Marcus line, the campaign for which had been shot in his hotel. Even more naturally, Chuck was coming with him.

As the newly-arrived guests entered the living room, Blair's heart promptly sank, though. She averted her eyes from the blonde nymph in a gold Eleanor Waldorf for Neiman Marcus knee-length dress. Naturally, the face of the line had been invited, too.

And was wearing the same dress as her.

Blair felt the area around her cheekbones grow hot and scarlet. Bile rose in her throat. Did her ex-best-friend always have to ruin everything for her? She had thought she was beautiful tonight. She wanted to be even more beautiful tonight than on any other night. And, of course, the effing Sunshine Barbie had to choose the identical dress! Just to remind her that she would always be more beautiful and more loved, even by Blair's own mother.

Without greeting Serena or her mother, and avoiding Dorota's completely non-subtle look of concern, Blair began stomping her way to the stairs. She would go and change. There was no point in competing with Serena. She would always lose. The ruched silk of the modestly cut neckline was suddenly unbearably itchy.

"B, wait!" Serena's hand closed around her wrist before she reached the bottom step.

Of course. 'When you have never-ending legs, catching up with the less fortunate is a joke,' Blair thought bitterly, refusing to even spare a look at the blonde.

"You've been avoiding me for three weeks," Serena said, and Blair hated the pleading urgency in her voice. It wasn't fair to make her feel guilty after she had taken away what was rightfully hers. It simply wasn't.

"Hasn't that been long enough?"  
"It will never be long enough." Blair didn't mince her words through her clenched teeth. "B, this is ridiculous!"

Serena was angling her face in such a way that, no matter how Blair turned her head, she had to look into her puppy-dog eyes. So, in the end, Blair closed hers.

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"You told me you were okay with it. I would-"  
Blair's eyes snapped open. "And you believed me?"she accused. "I..."

The wide blue eyes, a picture perfect of innocence, didn't find pity in Blair's heart, though. "Just spare me, Serena, will you?" she spat at her former best friend. "We both know it always has to be about you. Because the world revolves around the perfection that is Serena van der Woodsen!"

Serena's mouth went wide open, in what Blair would consider quite a comical sight under different circumstances, but no sound came out.

"Blair, darling!" a voice even more musical than Serena's and even more refined than Blair's did come, though, before the latter girl could manage another insult at her used-to-be friend.

Not sure why, Blair forced a smile as she turned to the source of that voice. As expected, Lillian Rhodes van der Woodsen Who-Knows-What-Else did not look quite as sophisticated as she sounded. In a loud-patterned green wrap Diane von Furstenberg, she looked just what she was – while beautiful, still middle-aged, a mom trying not to look a day older than her adult daughter. Blair felt a stab of pity, for both Lily and Serena, and instantly hated herself for it.

"You look absolutely marvelous!" Lily continued, her golden tresses – no doubt color-refreshed at Tricomi the very same day – bouncing as she took Blair by the hands. "The color and the cut of the dress truly suit you," she gushed as she gave her a very approving once-over. "You and Serena both. It's so like you two to agree to wear the same dress. I remember..."

Blair wasn't even listening any longer. She felt bile rise in her throat again. Her mother at least knew that she and Serena... were at odds. She had even warned her that her birthday would have to be celebrated in their penthouse – no matter what Daddy said – if she refused to appear at the party because Serena was coming. Serena's mother, on the other hand... Blair sighed as she took Serena's hand. She was supposed to be ruthless towards those who wronged her. Why wasn't she, then?

"Well, S and I have always been like sisters, Lily, so-"

She sighed again, this time because her heartfelt speech was interrupted by her own mother.

"Oh, there you are, Lily!" Eleanor talked fast, in her no-nonsense manner. "Klaus there," all four women cast inconspicuous glances at a pretty handsome blond man in his late thirties, "has been asking about you."

Lily's eyes sparkled as Eleanor gave her a conspiratory smile. Serena and Blair rolled their eyes simultaneously. Then they caught each other's eye and giggled. In situations such as this, there was no point in getting upset over what inevitably was to happen. They had learned that lesson all too well.

A handful of moments later, Lily was already halfway to the Klaus guy.  
"You look stunning, girls," Eleanor threw at her daughter and her friend before following her.

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"So," Blair broke the silence, "let's go get something sweet. I'm practically starving and those canapés don't look particularly appetizing." She made a step forward, but stopped when Serena didn't move.

"So," Serena pulled her hand slowly from hers, "I..." She looked unusually awkward as she kept looking down, two pink splotches getting bigger and bigger on her cheeks. "I don't want you to-"

"Stop it this instant, S!" Blair frowned at her antics. "We've been through too much to get old not talking because of some stupid photo shoot for a non-haute-couture collection."

Serena's lips curled into a little smile, and she finally looked at her.

"Besides, if you think I _pity _you because of your mother, think again." Encouraged, Blair was in a full rant mood now. "Because our dear mothers would be tied for the bottom position on the Mom of the Year list."

They chuckled in unison. Serena's laugh was a shadow of her glorious girly one, but at least it was a laugh... Blair hugged her tightly and they stayed like that for a while.

That is, until someone asked, "Any chance of moving this upstairs?", taking them both aback.

Blair felt her face melt into an embarrassing mush of feelings, the most prominent of which was dangerously close to adoration. She commanded herself to pull it together.

"What an unpleasant surprise, Bass," she noted haughtily.

He seemed amused, though. "I do love the way you lie, Waldorf," he told her in his usual lazy drawl as he brought her hand to his lips.

She let the familiar bittersweet longing wash over her. She was so past the stage where a brief touch could satisfy her cravings, but that didn't mean that she didn't want his lips on her skin, no matter for how short.

He proceeded to greet Serena, and Blair noticed with glee that he only nodded at her. Oh God, she liked him more, much more, than she should...

Chuck turned to her again, taking her hand – as it seemed to have become his custom. It looked like he was going to say something, and maybe something important, judging from a false start. Chuck Bass didn't do false starts.

"Is that Alexandra Smith-Robinson talking to Anne Archibald?" Serena interrupted their little moment clumsily, causing Blair to launch a string of not-so-flattering words at her; inwardly, of course.

However, when she did turn her head lazily towards the two members of Girls, Inc., her mouth nearly fell open. "She's wearing the same dress as we are! How did she even get it?"

"Well," Serena's full lips spread into a half-sheepish, half-bitter smile, "I did tell Eleanor this was the most beautiful dress in the line. Seems Alexandra has acquired some taste during these couple of years she's been married to Patrick Robinson."

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"It seems she's somehow acquired your taste," Chuck said, not without scorn, and Blair glared at him.

It was already bad enough that the redhead (that hair color was so obviously fake that it would be embarrassing to anyone who really had class!) ex-model-still-slut was obviously trying to flirt with Anne's son, touching him every other second. Nate looked pretty disinterested and a bit disoriented, though, as was typical of him. Blair allowed herself a small sigh of relief as he noticed their little crowd lurking in the shadows of the staircase and swiftly excused himself. She could refocus on Chuck now.

"Jealous?" She raised her eyebrows, trying not to sound as bitter as she felt. She knew that Gossip Girl had had loads of fun with Mrs. Robinson allusions almost three years ago, when Chuck was... what? fifteen? and the twenty-one-year-old Alexandra had just gotten engaged to the media mogul Patrick Robinson, despite (or maybe thanks to) her distasteful _Maxim _cover.

"I must say I'm disappointed with her choice of color, though," she went on. "The redheads are so predictable." She was careful not to insult _Alexandra's _looks. Not insulting her with every nasty word she had in her vocabulary was painful, but it had to be done. Because there was barely anything to criticize on that... woman, and she would look like a jealous idiot if she tried. Though, her knees really were too bony and bumpy, she thought as she appraised Mrs. Smith-Robinson in her dress, which – thankfully – at least wasn't gold, but India-green. But it seemed that men liked bony... and Alexandra was certainly well-endowed in some other parts, unlike her...

"And that Waldorf original certainly looks better in gold," she concluded petulantly.

"There's only one Waldorf original I'm interested in," Chuck murmured. Inexplicably, he was behind her now, his arms wrapped around her waist in a pretty possessive manner. Not that she minded. "And she looks incredible in anything," he said against the column of her neck, his hot breath making little patterns on her cold skin.

Blair shivered in the most delicious of ways. Her eyes fluttered closed and then open again, and she still had enough command over herself to send Serena a deep scowl and a withering glare in response to the blonde's panicky stare. She should just go coo with her stoner boyfriend somewhere else and leave her with her... There were no words to explain what he was to her. But she was his.

As though he was thinking the same thing, Chuck's hold on her tightened. "Though," he said, "a little less clothes sometimes wouldn't hurt."

He kissed the little hollow just behind her ear. And just like that the air-conditioned room turned unbearably hot, the humming in her ears unnaturally loud and the butterflies wilder than they'd ever been. She took a deep breath. If he could make her feel like this with one little kiss, how wonderful their... She shook her head slightly. She didn't want to think about that right now; the truth was that those thoughts still scared her a bit.

But there was nothing scary about letting Chuck caress her neck. Actually, there was something thrilling about that, and not just the fact that it felt so damn good and that he definitely wasn't the boring perfect gentleman anymore. Maybe the little thing that they were at a soirée, a soirée full of people? For a flicker of a moment, Blair imagined her mother's scandalized face, nostrils flaring and

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all, if she could see them behind this conveniently positioned pillar. However, although her lips moved into a semi-grin at the thought, she had to admit she would be mortified if anybody – well, maybe except Mrs. Robinson – caught them like this, her back pressed into his chest as her nails dug deeper into his Savile Row sleeves with every little kiss he left on her neck.

It seemed that, surprisingly, Chuck felt the same way, as his arms suddenly dropped from her waist and she felt his posture grow rigid.

"B," she heard Serena on her right and rolled her eyes. Were the Barbie and Ken of the UES the reason her bliss was discontinued? Honestly, Chuck Bass could be so stupid sometimes!

"Natie and I would like to retire to your room if that's okay with you." Serena's goofy voice matched her smile, and her eyes danced merrily.

Blair shook her head disapprovingly. Surely, she wasn't sporting the same I'm-going-to-have-the-best- sex-of-everyone's-life-soon face, right? Though she could live with glowing like that...

"Yeah," Nate supplemented, "I hate these things. The only thing missing to make it completely unbearable is my grandfather." Both he and Serena giggled, and then Serena smacked his arm. Nate cleared his throat a little. "Of course, no offense to your mom, Blair."

Blair rolled her eyes again. She tended to do that a lot when Nate and Serena were together. "Just remember," she told them, employing her Headmistress Queller voice, "whatever you do, my bed is off limits."

"I mean that!" she told at the blonds' backs as they almost skipped up the stairs.  
Then she turned back to Chuck. Now that the intruders had been dealt with, they could- Or not.

Rearranging her features with lightning speed, she smiled broadly. "Mr. Bass, it's so nice to see you again." 'This time, thankfully, while your son and I don't look like we're going to jump each other's bones any moment.'

Bart Bass smiled right back. Oh, the man obviously liked her, despite her unladylike behavior at the burlesque club. She allowed herself a smug little smile, but only inwardly. Adults loved her, always.

"It's always such a pleasure, Blair," he said. Then he turned to the woman beside him.

Even if she hadn't googled her, Blair would have known who she was. She had Chuck's eyes. Or rather, Chuck had hers. Her jet-black hair was swept up into a chignon, just like Blair's. She wore a simple black dress with a high round collar and three-quarter sleeves, which Blair's expert eye classified as Elie Saab. She seemed to have barely any makeup on, and she still was easily the most gorgeous woman in the room. Her beauty wasn't showy; it was timeless. With the grace and elegance she seemed to exude so effortlessly, she was more beautiful than Lily van der Woodsen and Alexandra Smith-Robinson combined.

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"This is my wife, Evelyn," Bart said. "Evelyn, this is Blair Waldorf, Eleanor's daughter."

Blair promptly offered her her sweetest and most sophisticated smile, the one she usually reserved for Anne Archibald and other ladies running influential charities. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bass." She extended her hand.

But Evelyn Misty Bass stood still and wordless. Blair imagined that the way she was feeling was eerily similar to the way a well-bred puppy who'd just been kicked for being a nuisance would feel. Chuck's mother just kept staring at her, making her more painfully self-conscious than she'd been in quite some time. The look in her eyes... It reminded Blair of the one she'd been giving to that man, Cyrus Rose. Chuck's unearthly pretty and sophisticated mom was looking at her like she was nothing but a gross, tedious insect. She felt like crying.

Evelyn's nostrils flared once in a manner Blair though was incredibly French, and then she was already gliding across the marble floor in an unknown direction. It must have all lasted a couple of moments only, but Blair couldn't remember when she had last been so drained.

"Get your mother a glass of water, Chuck." Bart Bass told his son in a tone that didn't allow discussion.

Still, Chuck seemed reluctant to go. His father endured his look of defiance stoically, as though he knew Chuck had no other choice than to obey. Shaking his head once, Chuck finally squared his shoulders and got going.

"She's a crazy bitch," he whispered to Blair as he passed her, squeezing her hand lightly.

Blair still felt like crying – nobody treated her like that. Then again, nobody who could be that rude didn't really have class and grace – it was all a mask. She, Blair Waldorf, was truly sophisticated, and Evelyn Bass wasn't. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at Chuck's father.

"I couldn't help but notice," he told her, "that you and Chuck have been spending more time together lately."

Blair prayed that no ugly, treacherous scarlet spots would appear on her cheeks. She couldn't think about Victrola, not now. "We have some common interests," she barely managed to choke out, proud at how the sentence somehow ended up sounding pretty nonchalant. 'Like scheming and burlesque.' She nearly grinned a Cheshire-Cat-worthy grin as she recalled Elise's quivering voice when she'd faced her with the info Chuck had provided. The girl really should have known nobody messed with Blair Waldorf's friends – Kati and Iz maybe were a bit of airheads, but they were friends, unlike Penelope, Hazel, Little J and the rest of them...

"I'm glad to hear that." Bart Bass half-smiled... again. Was the party getting him into the early holiday spirit or something? "Spending time with you has been good for him. I am glad that the relationship between you is evolving... into a friendship."

Blair hoped she succeeded in preventing her eyes from bugging by sheer willpower. Was Chuck's dad talking with her about her love life? And telling her he was pleased she liked his son? Oh, why didn't

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the earth open and swallow her already? A girl can endure only so much awkwardness from her... whatever-he-was parents.

Not knowing what to do, she did what she always did when in doubt: smiled politely, but was – very fortunately – soon rescued by her own mother. As Eleanor babbled on about the rugs for the Palace lobby, she sashayed towards Chuck, who – luckily – wasn't anywhere near his insolent mother, but who _was _too close to his former lover-or-whatever, Alexandra.

"Revisiting the past, Bass? How very pedestrian of you!" she scoffed, taking the last éclair under his nose and stabbing a silver fork into it. She didn't know if she was more angry with herself – that skank wasn't even that close, she really needn't have made a fool out of herself by overreacting (or... reacting in the first place) – or with him, as he now wore the most self-satisfied of all smirks.

"Calm down, kitten," he said and she could hear the smile in his voice, which only made her more willing to tear that idiotic smirk off his face.

"Kitten," he repeated, tasting the word like a sommelier would wine, only to conclude, "I like it. I think I'm gonna call you that."

"Ugh!" she mutilated the poor éclair. "Can you get any sleazier?" She narrowed her eyes at him in warning. "Don't you dare!"

"Why not? It's perfect for you." He shrugged. "You purr so nicely when everything goes your way, but you're ready to claw one's eyes out when it doesn't." He laughed, as though he knew that she wanted nothing more than to stab _him _viciously with her fork instead of the cake. "You're sly and independent, but also cuddly and soft and playful."

The final couple of words weren't more than a whisper, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up as her heart started to hammer wildly.

"Don't you dare, Chuck!" she repeated, but her breathlessness didn't allow her words to sound more convincing this time. "You can't have any nicknames for me."

"Why?"  
"Only my boyfriend gets to give me nicknames."

She'd blurted the words out, but was glad she had. Her birthday was next week... She needed to know where they stood.

"Well," he said, "let's not call them nicknames, then."

She briefly wondered if he was even aware that he'd made her heart plummet to her feet. Stupid question... Of course he knew. He knew everything.

"Let them be the names I call you when we make love."  
It was anger that was making her heart hammer wildly now. "Let me spell it out for you," she all but

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growled at him, "we have never, nor will we ever."  
He didn't seem the least bit perturbed, though. "We have never nor will we ever what?"

"That..." she sputtered angrily, fully and painfully aware that he was winning as long as she was letting her rage get the better out of her. "Make love."

"Oh, I love it when you're being a blushing little virgin," he said, tracing something on her hand, which was resting on the buffet table, with his fingertip. "I don't know why, but it makes me-"

She pulled her hand away. Touching her was giving him an unfair advantage by clouding her thinking. "Why don't you just go watch a porn and leave me alone?" she barked out.

"Not a bad idea," he smirked, "though I prefer art cinema." He ignored the eye roll the statement elicited from her. "I do have _Last Tango in Paris_. We could watch it together," he suggested. "Or maybe you prefer _The Dreamers_? I think I have it rented."

"Just leave me alone, will you, Bass?" She sighed and turned her back to him, casting a poisonous snotty look at the redhead who seemed too interested in their conversation.

She could still feel Chuck behind her, even though he was motionless. She knew how his proximity made her feel, she knew his scent, she knew him.

"Eat some of that éclair; it'll do you good," he finally spoke up. "You're getting too skinny."

Her first instinct was defense. "No, I'm not." She huffed exasperatedly. "Anyway, why do you care?" She left the "you're not my boyfriend" part out, though it took a lot of restraint to do so. She didn't want to look even more childish.

"I like my women comfortable." Although she still had her back turned to him in a somewhat silent protest, she could see his smirk deepen as his voice lowered. "Jutting bones," his fingers trailed from her almost bare shoulder – which definitely wasn't bony – down her arm and to her hand, which he took into his, "can cause great discomfort in more advanced positions."

Blair's breath hitched, but other emotions were stronger in her blood than desire. What was he thinking? Touching her like that in public? When he wasn't even her boyfriend?

She turned swiftly on her Cazabat-clad heel, smirking when her plate hit him straight in the chest. And she hadn't even planned that.

"All these dirty insinuations," she told him wearily, "are getting tiresome." She really was proud of her Queen Bee voice. It seemed to come naturally, and the bitchier she was, the more icy the voice. "When is it going to penetrate that thick skull of yours that I have absolutely no intention of ever having sex with you?"

Naturally, she was promptly rewarded for her poor word choice.  
"Penetration's on your mind, huh?" He grinned lazily, and Blair wondered how he managed to look

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even smugger every time, when one could swear nothing could be more self-satisfied than his previous smile. "I could take care of that right now," his voice got lower and huskier, and Blair – knowing full well that was his most predatory tone – struggled to keep her eyes open, "so that you can channel your energy into something more productive than trying to resist me."

She made a production out of rolling her eyes.

As expected, that didn't affect him at all. "Because, trust me, Waldorf," he concluded with utmost certainty in his voice, "we're inevitable."

"In your dreams, Bass," she scoffed, though not as sharply as she would have liked.

He shrugged. "Oh yes, in them, too," he admitted unabashedly, and she simply had to roll her eyes again, but she smiled this time. He was incorrigible, and she lo- liked him just like that.

They stayed like that for some time. To Blair, it seemed that – when he would look at her like that, with a smile in his eyes and without a mask on his face – she had all she ever needed. It was like they were in some parallel world, which was theirs only, and in which nothing could touch them. They were at a place far more beautiful than her mother's ornately decorated room and even that cheerfully melancholic Vivaldi sounded like it was played by a symphonic orchestra and not churned out by her old piano teacher at her baby Baldwin. And she had to finally admit it... She didn't just like him. She was in love with him, thoroughly.

She smiled her most radiant smile, without even trying. He smiled back and-

_Do you wanna, do you wanna, _

_Do you wanna make love to me? _

Despite her irritation at another moment with Chuck ruined, and obviously by their blond friends again, Blair erupted into a fit of giggles. Honestly, who wouldn't have, upon seeing her mother's face? The carefully chosen highbrow piano solo couldn't even be heard from some rock-ish band guitars and drums accompanied by the most inappropriate lyrics. And something that sounded like, "Turn it off, Natie!" and a grumbled, "I'm trying to, Serena!"

Blair couldn't but look at Anne Archibald, who seemed as utterly scandalized as her mother. Lily van der Woodsen, on the other hand, just offered Eleanor a small sheepish smile and returned to chatting with Klaus or whatever his name was. If there was one thing Blair was certain about, it was that she was going to hear about Lily's unacceptable behavior. But that was hours away...

_I know you want to, babe, _

_I know you wanna- _

The stereo was finally silenced as Blair was drying her eyes carefully. Everybody continued to bob their heads or tap their feet to Vivaldi, pretending that the little interruption never happened. Everybody except Eleanor Waldorf, of course. She was in front of her daughter, doing a remarkable job of hiding her seething behind the surface.

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"I'm glad that you found that funny, Blair," she attacked her as soon as she opened her mouth, a befuddled Cyrus Rose peeking from behind her shoulder, "but I – as you may imagine – didn't appreciate such vulgar behavior at my soirée."

In spite of her better judgment, Blair felt the urge to laugh again. Why was her mother that stuck-up all the time? And what was the role of that funny little man in everything? Was he her mother's new lap dog or something?

Trying to pass her giggle for a cough, she turned to Chuck for support, but he kept his head down, obviously not daring to annoy her mother further. Fine, then! She could tell her all alone that Serena had actually made her _soirée _interesting for a minute.

Eleanor was faster, though. "I expect you to go upstairs and rein in your little friends," she ordered, while Cyrus looked more miserable than ever. Hey, who would tell that the gnome could even look miserable? He seemed like a perpetually happy guy. Well, leave it to her mother to make him unhappy...

"We'll do that, Mrs. Waldorf," Chuck promised solemnly, and – before she could protest – he was leading her towards the staircase. She hadn't even known her hand was still in his.

Well, it wasn't like he could prevent her from doing what she wanted.

"Nice dress." She planted herself in place stubbornly when they were about to pass the read-haired creature, making Chuck look back in surprise. "It draws attention away from your fake hair." She smiled one of her most saccharine smiles at Alexandra Smith-Robinson.

The slut who had almost naked pictures was a bit distracted for a moment, but then had the audacity to ogle Chuck right in front of her eyes! Really, the nerve of some people!

"And you do know that the line is targeted towards high-school girls, don't you?" Blair added spitefully, her voice laced with fake concern, before she pulled Chuck by the hand and headed to the stairs. She gave the ex_-Maxim _model with fake (they had to be!) breasts another "friendly" smile over her shoulder. Though, truth be told, the almost-cougar didn't worry her anymore – Alexandra might have been a girl Chuck had fucked (she cringed at the word a little), but she was the only girl Chuck held hands with.

_I came to tell you that you're my favorite girl. _

_Would you like it if I put you into my world? _

Serena and Nate were playing what sounded like the same song from five minutes ago. They were sprawled across Blair's silk comforter.

Not for long, though.

"What did I tell you?" Blair launched a sham she picked up from the floor at them. "My bed is off limits!"

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"Ouch!" Nate faked being hurt by the pillow that landed on his head, and he and Serena started giggling like two kids on a sugar high.

That just irritated Blair further. Puffing in indignation, she picked up the sham again and started hitting them with it randomly.

"Ow, B!" Serena defended herself, shielding her face with one hand and grabbing a sham herself with the other. "We weren't doing anything!"

"You better believe you two won't be doing anything in this room, ever!" Blair countered, but by this time she had trouble keeping a straight face. It was a long time ago that she and Serena had a full-fledged pillow fight...

Then again, they had company now. And while she doubted that the always-baked Nate would mind their silly behavior, she didn't want to further remind Chuck that she was a "little girl" or a "kid."

"Okay," she said majestically, "enough." She put the pillow down next to a still-guffawing Serena and the dessert plate, which she was somehow still holding, to the nightstand. Then she waved her hand. "Scoot over."

Miraculously, Nate obeyed, and pulled Serena with him to the other end of Blair's queen-sized bed.

Blair sat down, her legs crossed at the ankles, facing the two of them and carefully arranging her dress so that it wouldn't wrinkle. She felt the mattress dent behind her and Chuck's arms close around her waist again.

"I said my bed is off limits," she protested, averting her eyes from the now-smooching blonds.

"I didn't know it was off limits to me," he murmured against her spine, pulling her down to lie beside him.

"_I'm _off limits to you," she whispered back.  
"Really?" he asked, tracing idle patterns on her arm again, before he pressed a kiss to the nape of her

neck.  
She closed her eyes, half savoring the moment, half hoping he would stop. "Mhm."

When she opened her eyes again, she was greeted by the gross sight of her best friend French-kissing Nate on top of him. "Ew! God!" she squeaked. "They're so disgusting!" She rolled over so that she was facing Chuck now. "You'd expect they'd have some decency what with us being here," she mumbled into his shirt disgruntledly.

"I don't even see them," he said, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "You're so cute when you're acting like a child," he added.  
Her lips curled into a pout. "I'm always cute."

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"You are."  
She could swear her heart stopped for a moment. "Aw, Bass," she teased slyly, "you like me!" "Oh, I adore you."

There was no smirking or anything that sounded like double meaning in his half-strangled voice, and Blair melted as he kissed her hair, right above her ear. She pressed her face into his shirt and draped her arm over him, like he had over her.

She was so content just lying like that, surrounded by his scent and warmth. He played with a few loose strands that had fallen out of her chignon. It was all so unreal, and so real at the same time. She knew for sure that she wouldn't mind spending all her evenings – and all her days – like that, just curled up next to him, with him.

"No, Nate, I really do have to go!"

Louder than usual, Serena's voice startled her from her slumber. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes were Chuck's eyes, watching her intently. She spread her lips into a little half-smile, and he returned it.

Then she turned to her former, present and future best friend, slightly miffed. Serena was standing in the middle of the room, trying to yank the chain of her convertible clutch out of Nate's grasp. Blair frowned as she tried to focus. The last thing she remembered about Barbie and Ken... They had chuckled at the shadow animals they were making on her wall. What had happened while she was sleeping?

"Nonsense, S," she said lazily. "Lily obviously doesn't want to go home yet, or Mother would be having a meltdown about me having not one but two boys on my bed. And Eric..." Her voice trailed off as she finally realized that E hadn't come to the soirée at all. "Where is Eric, Serena?" She sat up, alarmed.

Serena gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. "He's at home, with a friend. He wants to talk to you about... things, though."

"Good." Blair nodded, a bit absent-mindedly, however, as another important thought crossed her mind. She glanced down at Chuck, whose eyes were now closed, although she knew he wasn't asleep. Then she reached over him and grabbed the first shiny thing she saw.

"Relax, Waldorf," Chuck said. Or at least she thought that was what he'd said. She'd barely heard him as Serena and Nate had started talking at the same time again. She heard him perfectly, though, when he added, "You're perfect."

She blushed, not so much because of the compliment, but because he had caught her checking her reflection in the handle of a dessert fork.

"Now," he said, taking the fork from her, "are you going to eat this éclair or not?"

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"No." She pouted. She had at last managed to look like one of those girls in the movies right after she woke up, sexy bed hair and everything, and he was thinking about éclairs? Who was this guy and what had he done with Chuck Bass?

She watched as he loaded a piece of the cake onto the fork. "But you can't eat it, either!" she declared, taking the plate away from him with one hand and the fork with the other.

He frowned, but laughed heartily almost immediately. "Typical Waldorf," he remarked, "not letting anyone enjoy her cake."

As her boiling blood rushed to her face, Blair heard Nate, his mental acuity the same as ever, "Are we still talking about the éclair?"

Smacking her boyfriend on the side of the head, Serena wrinkled her nose up. "Seriously gross."

"You two, mind your own business!" Blair narrowed her eyes at the blonds. "Come on, shoo!" She waved her hand dismissively.

"Seriously, Chuck," she said when she was sure that Serena and Nate had resumed their thrilling conversation, about who called who more often or whose hair was shinier, no doubt, "that was so gross and disrespectful. I demand an apology."

He shook his head. "No demands can be met while I'm dying." He eyed the cake again. "Okay," she grumbled after a while, "but you have to apologize when you get the éclair."

She was about to shove the plate into his hand, when she got a better idea. Actually, that idea wasn't good by any stretch of imagination, she would soon realize; it was like she had been possessed or something. Be as it may, she picked up the fork and brought it to his mouth. He took up the game, like she had had at Victrola. She smiled to herself – this time it wasn't even that sexy, it was sweet.

Not everybody thought so, though.

"And then we are too lovey-dovey and inconsiderate?" Nate's voice boomed across the room.

"Tone it down, Nathaniel, will you?" Chuck advised wearily.

Blair only offered her best friend a flippant shrug in reply to her outraged expression. Why did she care so much anyway? It wasn't like she was her mother. Or a saint.

"It's late. I really have to go now," Serena stated firmly. "And I think you two should, too." She looked from Nate to Chuck.

Blair scowled. "Honestly, Serena, who taught you manners?" She looked at her defiantly. "Chuck is not going anywhere. And neither is Nate. You're welcome to stay, as well."

It must have been just a play of light and shadow, but it seemed to Blair that her friend's blue eyes suddenly became the shade of steel.

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"I'll stay," Serena said nonchalantly, perching herself on the edge of Blair's bed again. "Good," Blair retorted coolly, and the girls looked at one another in silence for a while.

Nate, obviously wanting to bring this power struggle he didn't fully understand to a halt, almost exclaimed victoriously, "Man, was that cake good!"

Three pairs of eyes turned towards him.

"Archibald," Chuck said disdainfully as he looked his friend gathering up the crumbs, "I wasn't aware that I should expect a stab in the back."

"What?" Nate shrugged. "Our new cook doesn't know a thing about cakes, which suits Mom just fine," he snickered, "but is driving Dad and me nuts. Besides, it's not like you hadn't already eaten half of it when Blair wasn't looking."

And then all that could be heard was Blair's gasp. "Cheater!" she accused Chuck heatedly. "Tease!" he accused her right back.

She threw a pillow at him, hitting him straight in the face and making him mumble something about a broken nose. She wasn't sorry, at all.

She turned to Serena and Nate. "So, what was that with the blaring music earlier?" she inquired dutifully. After all, their musical mishap had been the reason Mother had sent her upstairs.

"And what was that with Alexandra Robinson?" she heard a recovered Chuck murmur behind her. She jabbed him with her elbow, not very playfully. "You shut up, Dustin Hoffman," she hissed, ignoring his yelp and then his chuckle.

Some half an hour later, the atmosphere had thawed. Nate did seem a bit sleepy as he played with the buttons of his gray Ralph Lauren jacket, though.

"Therefore, I am _the _perfect candidate for Yale," Blair concluded her speech.

"You really are something, Waldorf." Chuck chuckled again. "Not to say that _I _was bored by your Ivy Week talk," he said when confronted with the icy rage of her stare. "But Nathaniel here," he cocked his head towards the other boy, "looks half-dead."

Blair half-snorted. "Nate _always _looks half-dead."  
This provocative statement induced a half-hearted mumble from Nate and an audible gasp from

Serena.

"What?" Blair shrugged disinterestedly, as Chuck sniggered and Serena glowered at him. "I was just being honest."

"She's probably right," Nate said meekly, pulling Serena in for a peck on the cheek.

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Blair got up from the bed. "I'm going to get some Dom, and I'll ask Dorota to get us something to eat." Not that she was planning to eat anything. Or maybe she would eat, just a little. "Maybe that'll wake Nate up. _And _make the rest of you forget my Yale speech. I don't want you putting parts of it into your applications."

Serena shook her head incredulously at that. They both knew, though, that Blair was joking only in part, a very small, miniscule, part.

After she closed the door behind her, Blair stood in front of her room for a few moments. Despite a couple of not-so-good moments, this night was nothing but fabulous. How could it be anything else when she had slept, she had _slept_, in Chuck's arms and he had told her all those wonderful things... She started down the stairs, not trying to hide the huge grin on her face, humming _I Could Have Danced All Night _in her head.

She hadn't noticed the extra spring in her step until she lost it. Until she found herself face to face with Evelyn Bass, that is.

Although she was still standing on the last step, Evelyn was taller than her. The fact that she had left her room shoeless might have had something to do with that, however, she realized to her chagrin. She fought against the compulsive need to look down at her Falke-clad feet. If she didn't look at them, Evelyn Bass wouldn't look at them, either.

That soon proved to be an unnecessary preventive measure, however, as it seemed that the woman wasn't even looking at her. Rather, she was looking right through her and stood there like a Grecian statue. Blair wondered if it would be best if she simply walked around her and got on her merry way (or, rather, got back to her room, seeing as she practically was barefoot). As she moved, though, the woman moved, too.

"You are just like me, my dear," she said.  
Blair shivered. The term of endearment from Evelyn's lips had sounded like mockery.

"You are _just _like me, my dear," she repeated and, not grasping why, Blair would have screamed – had she been able to – that she was nothing like her. "That's why you have to stay away from the Bass men."

Blair's eyes widened and her blood ran cold as the woman touched her cheek with the knuckles of her long, lean white fingers.

"Charles," Evelyn continued in her clipped voice, devoid of any emotion, "is a Bass. He's going to destroy you, like he destroyed me."

Blair knew she had to seem incredibly stupid, gaping like a fish out of water, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted to tell this ghastly woman to leave her alone, to leave her and Chuck alone. But the words weren't coming. So she just opened and closed her mouth alternately, feeling more lost with each moment that passed.

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Finally, the monster's husband broke the spell it had over her.

"Evelyn?" he said as he emerged from the direction of the library, putting his phone back into his pocket. It was obvious that he was surprised to see his wife standing there. Then he spotted Blair, and what little color was present in his face promptly disappeared.

To Blair's utter amazement, Evelyn turned to him with a dazzling smile. "I was just talking with Blair about her mother's new line, darling."

Blair nodded once, avoiding the man's questioning look at all costs. She moistened her parched lips, hoping that would help her utter a lie, any lie, but her throat still felt as if she'd swallowed alum. She couldn't choke out a single word.

"Really?" Bart's faux-cordiality wasn't difficult to detect. "Well, that's nice," he said in a strained voice, "but it's time for us to go home, Eve."

She just shrugged her slender shoulders.  
"Get your mother's coat, Charles," Bart instructed.

Blair froze. Then fear and panic rippled through her. She whipped her entire body around, not bothering to recompose her features into an at least somewhat calmer mask. Sure enough, Chuck was there, a few steps down from the landing. She gripped the banister for support. How long? How long had he been there? Had he heard all of it? A million frantic questions raced through her head. And the only thing she needed to answer them all was the fact that he was refusing to look at her as he slowly walked down the stairs.

'No!' she nearly shouted out loud, ready to claw the crazy woman's eyes out. Instead, she only shook her head a little. Why? Why now, when everything was so good?

As Chuck walked past her, she tried to take his hand, but he just shrugged her off in passing.

She closed her eyes briefly and forced herself to remain calm, for his sake. She took a deep breath and faced his parents again, only to be met by his mother's sneer. She nearly lost her footing. She considered herself an expert in dealing with mean girls... and mean women, who were just slightly older and meaner versions of their offspring, but this woman, this woman was something else with her pure, heartless malice. Didn't she even care that she had hurt her own son, maybe just as much as her?

"It was nice seeing you again, Blair." Bart broke the pregnant pause after what seemed an eternity.

She forced a smile which probably looked more like a pained grimace. "You too, Mr. Bass." She nodded curtly in Evelyn's general direction, as Chuck – who had just returned with all their things – was helping her into her mink coat. "Mrs. Bass."

"Oh, I am _delighted_, darling," Evelyn twittered, her beautiful face peeking out from the white fur. Blair hadn't felt such a strong urge to vomit for years. This... woman was making her physically ill.

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"Chuck," she more mouthed than uttered, despair beginning to chill her to the bone. Wasn't he even going to look at her? At all?

If he had heard her, he didn't show it. He followed his parents wordlessly.

Blair followed him in turn.

She wasn't sure why she was doing that. She just knew that she couldn't let him go like that, without at least squeezing his hand in silent reassurance. He had to know that she didn't care about crazy parents. Heck, she had at least one, too.

She was feverishly planning her move as his _family _was waiting on the elevator. She hid deeper into the shadow of a pillar, though, when she heard Bart Bass's crisp voice.

"I told you this very afternoon that I had an important phone call with Tokyo, and that you should keep an eye on your mother while I am away."

"I am sorry I did not fail to disappoint you once again, Father," Chuck said impassively, "but one would think that Mother should not attend social events if she is inevitably _smashed _– or should I say 'drunk off her ass' – by the end of them."

"Watch your mouth, young man," Evelyn warned him sternly.

It was Bart who replied, however. "I hope you watched your mouth, Evelyn. Because if I find out that that girl looked like a ghost because of something you told her, so help me God-"

Blair was relieved when the ding of the elevator marked the end of their discussion, at least for her. Her head was already pounding savagely. She pressed her fingers onto her temples, forcing herself to think clearly. She had to do something tonight. If she just let it all slide, or waited until tomorrow, he would shut her out completely. But it was impossible to think straight with all these people chattering around. She needed to get back to her room.

To her dismay, she found the blond duo still sitting on her bed.  
"Where's Chuck?" Nate asked. "I sent him to see if you could find some beer. I don't really like Dom." Blair breathed out through her nose, trying very hard not to explode.  
"He went home," she finally said. "His mother wasn't feeling well."  
"Oh."

That one syllable told Blair what she needed to know. She wasn't the only one who knew about Evelyn Bass and her personal brand of craziness. And if Chuck had let Nate in, he would surely let her in, too... someday.

"I think it's high time for us to go too, right, Serena?"

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Blair didn't contradict him. She was glad he seemed to be perceptive for once. Serena got up and picked her purse up from the floor.

"I... um...," Nate stammered, "this was a cool party. We should... um... do this again, sometime." Quite unexpectedly, he hugged her.

'Well, he probably still talks to his therapist about his encounters with Evelyn Bass,' Blair thought grimly.

"Thank you, Nate," she whispered.  
Then it was Serena's turn to hug her. "We need to talk, B," she said. "About what's going on between-" "Fine, Serena," Blair cut in, her patience worn thin, "we'll talk. Just not tonight, okay?"  
Her pleading seemed to work, and Serena and Nate were out the door in a minute.

As soon as she turned the key in the lock behind them, Blair wrapped herself up into her comforter, not sparing a second thought to her dress. She lay down at the same spot where she was lying with Chuck not longer than an hour ago. How could have so much changed in such a brief time? She wiped the first tears away with the back of her hand. This wasn't the time for crying. She had to do something, fast. He had to know she didn't care about his mother's crazy stories. Who had "destroyed" her, anyway? Chuck? His father?

She shook her head. This wasn't the time for trying to decipher a crazy woman's stories, either. She took her phone from the nightstand and started typing.

Ten minutes later, she was still staring at the first version of the text she was going to send him. It read simply, _good night_. However bare and inadequate it was, it still sounded better than the several verbose, and especially those couple emoticons filled, texts she had come up with later. And it was better than nothing. This way, he would know she cared, and he would have no grounds to think she was pitying him. Not when her message was simply wishing him a good night.

She hit "send."

She fell asleep hours later, in the same position, still hoping for a sound from her ominously silent phone.

* * *

After she missed the right button for the third time, Blair finally pulled her eye mask up and turned the wake-up alarm off. She yawned a little and stretched her arms above her head. It was Friday, finally, and she was so incredibly tired because she couldn't fall asleep last night, thinking how her birthday party was less than twenty-four hours away. Only a week ago, her birthday had been the deadline by which Chuck would become her boyfriend. Right now, her birthday was a day on which she might get to see Chuck.

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It wasn't that they weren't in touch since the disaster that her mother's soirée had turned into near the end of the night. Then again, it wasn't exactly that they were. The morning after the soirée and her "good night" text, no sooner had she silenced her alarm than her phone beeped again. The message read, _good morning_.

When her heart's dance started getting a little less erratic and she wholeheartedly thanked the powers that be that Chuck not only wasn't ignoring her but had possibly stayed up thinking about her – let's be realistic, it wasn't like Chuck Bass to get up at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning – she had to think hard about her reply. Plus, she had to think about the timing of her reply; she didn't want to seem desperate, especially given the fact that it had taken him all night to respond. Yet, she definitely didn't want to seem not interested. Besides, she couldn't ask anything about his crazy mother and the effect her behavior had had on him. In sum, replying to his message wasn't an easy task.

The best she came up with was, Good morning! I literally just woke up... Did you by any chance take my chem notes with you on Thu by mistake? I was trying to do my hw yesterday and couldn't find them. It's ok if you did; I managed w/out them. Just bring them on Tue, ok?

All right, all right... Maybe that wasn't the most well-thought out text, but she just wanted to be sure he was still coming to their regular study session. He had already passed his midterm some time ago, after all. And she really couldn't find her notes.

I don't think I did, but I'll check. I can't come Tuesday...

Her stomach did a violent lurch before it sank.

...or Thursday...

Now she really felt sick.

...but I'll tell Arthur to leave them with your doorman if I have them.

Not even, "Or I'll bring them to school and we can meet before class"? She bit her lip. This was bad, very, very bad. After pondering on that for a minute, she finally texted back, Fine.

In hindsight, that probably hadn't been the smartest thing to do. Then again, she was not going to walk on eggshells around him when he had practically dismissed her, completely shut her out, and for what? For trying to be nice and supportive, for trying to show him she cared?

She tossed her phone aside and ran to the bathroom. She was not going to think about him, and she was not going to send him another text. Not until he said something nice first.

She brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face vigorously, but when her tears made marks in her Clinique facial, which she was dabbing on just to pass the time, she beelined to her bed. Cursing Chuck Bass to hell on her way, naturally. Having wiped the mask off her fingers carefully, she picked up her Blackberry again. There were no new texts, just that bunch of unread emails. She sighed. She hated him for making her feel like this.

But don't forget that we're ironing out those last few details about Victrola on Tuesday, she typed and

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hit "send" before she had time to reconsider.

She had been stupidly looking forward to spending more time at Victrola with him, even if it was in the early afternoon. Why else would she be planning her birthday party all alone, without a professional or at least Serena and the minions? And now he was going to bail on her, she was absolutely certain.

Maybe she should have given him the benefit of the doubt.

I won't forget. I know everything has to be perfect for your birthday on Friday.

Her heart drumming in her ears, about as loud as what she imagined the volume at a rock concert must be, she grinned. He knew how important her birthday was to her, and he was going to help her make it perfect. Actually, he alone could- would make it perfect, even if he didn't know that.

She kept smiling as she all but ran into her closet and fingered the delicate fabric of the black RED Valentino she was going to wear on Friday. Everything was well in the universe again. Oh, she loved him for making her feel like this!

Half an hour later, phone in hand, she gamboled downstairs to find something to eat. Something light, of course, that Valentino was a bustier mini dress, for crying out loud, and she had to look her best on her birthday.

Eleanor was already at the dining table, a cup of black coffee in front of her.

"Good morning, darling." She smiled from ear to ear, and Blair felt like rubbing her eyes. Since when was her mother this bubbly in the morning... or ever?

In the end, she just shrugged imperceptibly and smiled back. Why would she complain because Eleanor was in a good mood?

"Good morning, Mother," she said as she placed herself opposite her and picked up a red grape.

Then Eleanor returned to her New York Times, and she popped the grape into her mouth and started to scroll down her new emails.

She was soon interrupted, though.  
"So, what did you think of the soiree?" Her mother startled her.

"It was lovely, Mother," she said after a couple of moments, infusing her voice with false enthusiasm. She knew that answer was going to appease her mother. In reality, the last night's event would have already blended in her memory with all the other events of that sort she had attended, if it hadn't been for Chuck.

As Mother had her eyes glued to her newspaper again, she allowed herself to close hers for a split second, recalling his hands and his ever-so-gentle lips on her. Yes, last night had been pure perfection. Until his crazy mother materialized before her from thin air, that is.

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She picked up another grape and chewed on it violently. She would much rather chew Evelyn Bass up and spit her out, thank you very much. She sighed again.

Eleanor looked up, squinting over her Prada reading glasses. "Is something wrong?" "No," she forced a smile, "everything is just fine, Mother."

When Eleanor didn't avert her eyes immediately, though, she added, "It's just Julie from Saks. Why can't that woman understand that I am not interested in this season Chloé bags?" She shook her head exaggeratedly, knowing her mother would commiserate. "They're plain ugly!"

As expected, Eleanor shook her head a little, too. "I tried to let Hannah know that color-blocking was done in all the wrong ways."

Then she shrugged her shoulders lightly – as if to say, "But what can one do when people simply refuse to listen?" – and returned to her paper once more.

Blair, for her part, returned to reading her mail, grinning when she realized Gossip Girl had been updated that very morning. She clicked on the link and rapped her fingers against the table as she waited for the page to load.

Then she saw the title of the latest blog entry.  
She gasped very audibly before she was able to stop herself.

"What is it now?" Eleanor asked; thankfully, not raising her eyes from The Times this time. "Are you wait-listed for Proenza Schouler's new bag or Barneys has run out of Laura Mercier?"

"Something like that," she muttered, standing up as slowly and as calmly as she could.

As she walked towards the foyer, her each step was a bit longer and a bit faster than the previous one.

"What's going on, Blair?" she heard her mother nearly yell after her.

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. "Nothing, Mother! I just have to call Serena," she shouted back, managing somehow to add a disingenuous smile to her voice.

"But you didn't tell me what you thought of Mr. Rose?"

Blair nearly stop in her tracks. Has her mother gone crazy? She didn't have time for this; not now. "Oh, he's great!" she threw over her shoulder. 'For a circus freak,' she muttered inwardly.

After hesitating briefly in front of the staircase, she strode into the kitchen. She let out a huge sigh of relief when she did find Dorota there.

"Good morn-"  
"If Serena calls, tell her I'm not here. Tell her I'm feeding orphans in Queens or something," she said

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in a tone Dorota had to recognize as the no-nonsense one. "Tell her anything, I don't care; but it has to be convincing enough for her not to come here. I don't want her here under any circumstances. Clear?"

Then, as a wide-eyed Dorota was nodding rapidly, she turned on her heel and scurried upstairs.

Once in her room, she fired up her laptop. That disaster had to be seen on a real screen. She had to assess the damage properly. As she tapped her foot against the floor, waiting for the horribly slow browser to load the page, she turned her phone off. Fortunately, it seemed that nobody, not her minions and certainly not Serena, was up yet. However, it was past nine now, so it was probably just a matter of minutes when the texts were going to start pouring in. She couldn't deal with that, not right now.

The blog finally loaded, and she cringed. There it was, in bold letters: Queen Anne... err, B Lost Her Head Already? And a pic of Chuck trailing his fingers down her arm. And another one, of them holding hands and her grinning like a mushy moron. They were really cute, though... She ordered herself to focus. On Gossip Girl's pathetic scribblings and not on their photo.

Good morning, Upper East Siders!

Hope you had a good night's sleep. You deserved it after partying so hard last night. Yes, Poppy Lifton, I'm referring to you and your and G's exploits at Marquee!

Some of my informants weren't at such exciting places last night, though. They were at a lovely soiree for the 30+ crowd at Eleanor Waldorf's. Yawn, you must think, my dear readers. And there you are wrong. For, how can anything involving our golden(-haired) girl Serena van der Woodsen be boring?

Blair snorted.

After she and her gorgeous boyfriend (we all love your six-pack, Nate! thanks for showcasing it after the last lax game) disappeared upstairs, there was a "slight" commotion when a song about sex began booming through the Waldorfs' polished penthouse choke-full of stuffy guests.

We hear that our very own Queen B, the hostess's daughter, enjoyed this little faux pas, though. As my source says, she giggled to tears. Then again, maybe she just was happy anticipating her own good night's play. Because, lovelies mine, Queen B and our favorite bad boy – Chuck Bass, duh – were inseparable all evening, or shall I say night? In fact, they were so cozy that they were touching each other every two seconds and held hands all the time. My source even provided these wonderful pictures above for you.

So, what do you think is going on, readers dear? Has Queen B managed to tame Bass? Or has Bass warmed her icy heart just so he could have her warm his bed for a night? Vote in the poll below.

Blair finally let out the shaky breath she had been holding for the last five minutes. There was even a poll? She was never one to swear, but... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Did this have something to do with Chuck's strange behavior?

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As for me, I'll just say: remember what happened to the queen whose king was a notorious womanizer, the queen who thought with her heart instead of her head, B? I know that you're in AP History, so you should remember. If you don't, just ask S – we all know she's crazy about The Tudors.

Blair shook her head, her entire body trembling, with shock, with anger.

And a bit more food for thought for all of you, dears: Chuck's mysterious friend with whom he's been spending considerable amounts of time lately seems to live in the Queen's building.

xoxo  
Gos-  
Blair slammed her laptop shut.

Then she opened it again. She hadn't checked the results of the poll. Not that she needed to. She knew already that everybody would think she was a pathetic fool, panting like a lovesick puppy after a guy who... well, only wanted her to pant, in his bed, naked. Maybe they were right. No, they certainly were right. What other reason could he have had for treating her like that this morning? He had been exposed and... She shook her head once more. It made no sense, none of it.

Taking a deep breath, she voted for "Bass is the Queen's new lap dog," although she didn't honestly believe Chuck Bass could be anyone's lap dog. Not that she would ever want to treat him like one; he wasn't Theodore or Jeremy. "The Queen is Bass's new Kleenex" still had good ninety per cent of the votes, though.

She slammed the laptop shut again. Why wasn't the "Bass is the Queen's new Kleenex" option there? Okay, maybe she'd never had a "Kleenex" before, but one had to start somewhere. And, for the record, she had planned to use Chuck once, like a Kleenex, when they met in the Hamptons.

She buried her face into her pillow and curled up into a ball. Was she really that stupid? Did he really only want to use her for sex, despite the fact she was still a virgin? Or maybe precisely because of that? Had it all been a part of his plan – helping her with L'Wren, his father's dinner, Victrola, her mother's soiree, all their afternoons? She didn't want to believe it, but it surely seemed so...

'No!' she thought vehemently as the first tears fell. 'That's not true. He's different with me. I'm the only girl he holds hands with. He hasn't even kissed me properly. I'm not just one of his girls for sex...'

She remembered what he'd said. 'Let them be the names I call you when we make love.' Love, not sex. Love.

New hope fluttering in her chest, she bit her lip as she remembered the utterly adorable way in which he had proclaimed that he adored her.

She sat up hastily and wiped her tears away. There was no real reason to cry. She was being so silly – of course Chuck had had lots of one-night stands. She'd always known that. But she meant more to him; she could feel that, in his every look and every touch. He cared. And he was giving her a choice. He had stepped back, in case she didn't want to be associated with him... What a foolish boy! There

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was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to be with him, every day, for all the world to see.

She laughed softly and hugged the pillow to her chest, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Yes, she nodded to herself, had he just wanted sex, he would be texting her and calling her like mad, trying to convince her that Gossip Girl was an idiot and that he did feel as deeply connected to her as she felt connected to him. He remained quiet, though, but still wanted to make her birthday perfect for her. He cared. He was letting her decide whether it was worth it, whether they were worth all that – the gossip, the snarky polls, the struggle to keep her reputation intact, maybe even enduring his lunatic mother.

Or had he decided that it wasn't worth it for him, that he wanted his reputation intact?

She frowned. No, that wasn't true. She just knew it wasn't. All the things he had said and all the things he had done, and her whole being, were telling her he truly did care. He... was in love with her. And she was in love with him.

She laughed again, falling back onto the mattress and burying her face into the pillow again. She couldn't but think how incredibly good it had felt when his shirt and his chest were in the pillow's place.

She stayed holed up in her room until lunch, which she ate heartily despite its dizzying calorie count – Dorota really did make the best spinach and ricotta cannelloni. Mother was nowhere to be seen. Dorota informed her that she had to run to the atelier because of some buttons or something. She also told her that Serena had called.

"But no worry, Miss Blair," she added in a lower voice, "I tell her you go to see Dr. Johnson, and we all know you go shopping after."

"Dorota!" Blair screeched, dropping her fork. "Are you insane?" She could already feel a monster headache developing. "Why would you tell her I went to see my ob/gyn? And on a Sunday?"

Taking a step back, Dorota mumbled, "It only convincing."  
"Yes, very convincing!" Blair raged on. "I should have known I can only rely on myself..."

When the flabbergasted maid simply stayed in place silently, she added, "Oh, just go polish something!"

Visibly relieved, Dorota swiftly left without looking back.

In her room again, Blair turned her phone on. She had already replied to a couple of her minions' texts, telling them she had absolutely nothing to say about Gossip Girls idiotic insinuations, much less about her ridiculous little poll which nobody was going to vote on anyway. They must have gotten the message, because the percentages in the poll had changed. Bass had about eighty per cent now. She was positive he would have less hadn't Penelope secretly voted for him a gazillion times.

Sure enough, there were a dozen voicemails from Serena, all the same essentially. She knew that Blair

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must have seen the blast and she only wanted to talk to her. Blah, blah, blah. As if she needed another sermon by St. Serena depicting Chuck as the devil incarnate. They could talk tomorrow at school. Besides, she had homework to attend to. She turned her phone off again.

She spent the rest of the afternoon finishing The Mill on the Floss for Ms. Carr's class. Well, trying to finish it, anyway. The further she read, the more time she was spending staring into the opposite wall, trying to figure out why the book was affecting her that much. Was it because she saw her and Chuck in the story, just like in every story she'd read recently? Well, that was ridiculous; they could never fit into The Mill on the Floss. Then again, they were nothing like Professor Langdon and Katherine Solomon, either, but she kept imagining Chuck and her solving creepy mysteries and falling in love in the process when she had picked the book up last week because she needed to unwind and she'd heard there was going to be The Lost Symbol movie next year. And because Dorota hadn't had any more stories about lotharios who selflessly die for their true love in the end, which Blair preferred, or marry their true love and have like a million babies but still have an amazing sex life, too.

Anyway, The Mill on the Floss... She could be Maggie. Not that she was anything like Maggie, apart from always being outshone by the blonde Lucy (but only until they grew up, ha!) and yearning for love. But... Who was Chuck? Was he her Phillip, a sad, smart, neglected boy? Or her Stephen, who she wanted with a passion that would be her downfall? Was he anything hers? Was he hers, really?

Oh, this was past ridiculous! She closed the book and started walking around the room. Of course he wasn't hers officially, at least not yet. But he was going to be, and soon. Because they both wanted that. They wanted to be each other's...

Well, he could at least text some nonsense, then. She was the one who had texted first last time. It was his turn now. She turned her poor Blackberry on again.

An hour later, she had finished the novel, began jotting down the notes for the essay due in two weeks, let two Serena's calls go to voicemail, and she was getting angry. Yes, she did understand why he hadn't sent anything. That didn't mean she wasn't hoping he couldn't not think about her so he would have to type a couple of words and push "send."

She huffed just as the door to her room opened.

"It's too early for dinner, Dorota," she said, not bothering to turn to the door.

"And is it too early to finally talk to me?" Serena asked, plopping onto her bed unceremoniously.

Blair felt the need to grit her teeth. "By all means," she said cloyingly.

"So, what did you buy today?" Serena pushed, utterly unruffled.

"Nothing."

Serena kicked off her gray Ferragamo flats and rolled onto her stomach. "You're telling me that Blair Waldorf went to see Dr. Johnson and didn't cure the stress with a little shopping afterwards?"

Getting tired of the charade and painfully aware that it wasn't going to be easy to get rid of Serena

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now that she'd somehow weaseled her way into her room, Blair spat out, "I didn't even go to see Dr. Johnson, okay? Dorota lied. I was here the entire day."

Serena grinned like a four-year-old in front of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, and Blair wanted to smack her on the head.

"Good," the blonde breathed out.

"I didn't know you were that concerned with my academic progress," Blair bit out, "but I thank you, S. Now, if you'd excuse me, I've still got things to do."

As anticipated, this feeble attempt to make her leave was unsuccessful.  
"I just wanted to talk about that Gossip Girl post," Serena said. "I was worried that-"

"That I was at Dr. Johnson's because I had sex with Chuck Bass?" Blair shook her head at her best friend's idiocy, her lips a thin line. "May I remind you that he left before you and Nate?"

Serena looked down for a moment. "I didn't mean... last night necessarily," she said quietly.

"Don't worry, S," Blair rolled her eyes, "my virtue is still intact."

"But there is something going on between you and Chuck," Serena insisted, sitting up. "I saw you-"

"Oh, will you stop already, Serena! Whatever you saw me and Chuck doing, I saw you doing with the entire St. Jude's swim team and-"

"Okay." Serena was standing in front of her now, a little paler than usual; it seemed that her words had hit the mark. Good. "Say what you want about me, it's all true. But it's not me we're talking about, it's you."

Blair grimaced. "And what is that supposed to mean? That I can't kiss anyone? Because I'm the Virgin Ice Queen?" She felt that odious prickling in her eyes. She'd had enough last night and today already. Why couldn't at least her supposed best friend leave her be?

"No, no, of course not, B." Serena's face looked as if she'd just swallowed a bitter pill. "Just... don't fall in love with him."

"I won't," she promised, avoiding Serena's pleading eyes. She wasn't lying, technically. She wouldn't fall in love with Chuck, because she had already fallen in love with him. Besides, she would have said anything to get Serena off her back.

"Maybe you shouldn't-"  
Fortunately, whatever the blonde was going to say was interrupted by Eleanor's appearance.

"Serena, darling," she greeted her favorite girl chirpily, "Dorota told me you were here. It's such a lovely coincidence that we're having your favorite crêpes for dinner!"

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Blair almost sadistically enjoyed the wooden little smile Serena offered her mother. It was only fair that she should endure some pain after what she had put her through.

"There's also grilled salmon if you want to skip the crêpes, Blair, dear," Eleanor added and then eyed her expertly, "although you are skinnier and skinnier."

She frowned, and for a fleeting moment Blair wondered if she was going to tell her she should eat more. She shouldn't have wondered, really – nothing was too skinny for her mother. Not that she was going to bitch about at the moment. No, she followed Mother and Serena down the stairs, not even caring that the skinny one was going to be drowning in the best crêpes of everyone's life while she was going to feast on a bit of grilled salmon and raw fruit so that she would be perfect in her birthday dress. She was too happy and too busy for that, thanking the powers that be for Eleanor ex machina.

Later that night, when she was already curled up in bed, she looked at her Blackberry for the umpteenth time. No new messages. She tried to stifle the sigh of disappointment, she really did.

'One last try,' she said to herself as she typed good night again. 'And here goes nothing.'  
Or not. The reply came in seconds this time. And although it only contained the same two words her

text had, she fell asleep happy.

The next morning, she got another good morning text. She didn't see him at school, however, even though she made sure she spent almost every free moment in the yard. She texted him again in the evening, and he texted back. He texted first on Tuesday.

And then again during lunch.

I'm sorry, I can't make it to Victrola today. Ben will help you.

She nearly flung her yogurt at Hazel's stupid, smirking face and pushed Penelope down the Met steps. He hadn't even tried to reschedule? They could have met tomorrow... or on Thursday even. Why was he so cold? How could he be so cold? All she wanted was to drag herself home and spend the rest of the day wrapped up in her comforter, with hot chocolate and Audrey.

It was he who sent the good night message that evening. After thinking long and hard, she replied. If he didn't care, she wouldn't show him he'd hurt her.

On Wednesday, she was feeling a bit better. As they were halfway through their fruit cups on the steps, she was even able to mock Hazel's new crush without forcing herself to. Little J chuckled loudest at her cutting little remark.

"Oh," Penelope cooed, as much as she was able to coo, "such cute flats, Little J!"  
Jenny smiled, a tad shyly, looking down at her colorful zigzag shoes. "Thanks, P."  
"Are they Missoni for Target?" the older girl stabbed the knife victoriously.  
Blair raised her eyebrows, a picture perfect of innocence. "What is Target, Penelope? I've never heard

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of it."

Kati and Iz sniggered, throwing their identical chartreuse Missoni scarfs back.

"I...," a flustered Penelope started, "I've read on the Internet that Missoni has a line for-"

"Whatever." Blair stood up, rolling her eyes royally. "We have to go to class."

She briefly nodded in response to Little J's grateful look. She hadn't done that because she liked Jenny, but because she abhorred Penelope.

Once they entered the school building, Penelope, Hazel and Jenny went their own ways. Blair headed to the bathroom to brush her hair.

"No need to come with me, girls," she said to Kati and Iz. "I'll see you in class."

Two minutes later, her Mason Pearson brush and Chanel lip gloss back in her Alexa, she entered the hall smiling. Only to get her smile wiped off her face when she was ambushed by Chuck Bass.

"Hey." He half-smiled.

"Hi," she replied politely, commanding herself not to let the butterflies muddle her brain.

"Can we talk?"

She couldn't even look at him. She knew the chances that she would foolishly forgive him as soon as she did were high. So she started towards her classroom. "I'll be late for class."

"Look, Blair, I'm sorry about yesterday, but Ben knows all the details even better than I do," he talked as he walked half a step behind her.

"Oh yes, Ben is just wonderful," she twittered enthusiastically. This was the first time it occurred to her that the manager of Victrola was not only young, but pretty good-looking too. She hoped that it now occurred to Chuck, as well. Judging by something that sounded like a muttered curse, it did. She would have smirked, but it all hurt too much.

They were almost in front of the classroom now. He caught her by the elbow, and she spun around, frowning.

"Well, I'm glad he was a decent substitute," he spat out. "Bart wanted me to sit in on some meetings. He's buying and renovating some hotels in Monaco and France."

"It's okay," she said, not meaning it. Okay, that was a valid excuse for yesterday. But what about their study sessions? What about acting like she didn't exist?

There was a pregnant pause before she spoke up again. "You don't have to come to my birthday if you don't want to."

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Something shifted in his eyes, but his face remained as unreadable as ever. For the first time after quite a while, she wondered if he maybe really had no emotions, at least not for her. Maybe he wasn't an expert in hiding them; maybe he simply didn't have them in the first place.

"Do you want me to come?" "Only if you want to." There was another silence. "Blair..." he trailed off.

And it was like an epiphany. Suddenly, it was all crystal clear. She couldn't have been more sure what it all meant, his voice and the look in his eyes. She had been right, about everything.

"I don't care what Gossip Girl says," she almost whispered, managing to choke the words out somehow.

His voice wasn't anything less strangled when he asked, "Are you sure?"

She nodded, and her hand was in his again. And she was smiling again, mirroring his smile. And the butterflies were wild again.

"Mademoiselle Waldorf, la leçon a comencé," she heard that old bat of Madame Rogers behind her back. "Vous devriez être dans la salle de classe."

"Je suis désolée, Madame Rogers," she said instead of stomping her foot and made a step forward, although it was obvious that the class hadn't really started. For starters, the teacher was in the hall.

As she inched towards the classroom, she could hear Chuck apologizing.

"Je suis très désolé, madame," he said. "C'est ma faute. Je voulais l'avis de Mademoiselle Waldorf sur les poètes symbolistes."

She grinned. The symbolist poets, yeah right. To her shock, it seemed that Madame Rogers was also amused. Or at least it certainly sounded that way.

"C'est ne pas grave," she said good-naturedly.  
Blair heard her sigh, "Ah, les jeunes..." as she entered the classroom right after her. She smiled to

herself. It was good to be young and in love.  
Yet, it didn't feel that way when she didn't see Chuck or hear from him until much later. Yes, he did

send her the usual text that night. And no, she didn't see him on Thursday, either.

Thursday was a catastrophe anyway. She went to Tiffany's to put a couple of pieces on hold for Mother. Daddy had bought her a gift in Paris. (She couldn't wait for it to arrive!) But the gorgeous platinum-and-rubies necklace she had spied in October wasn't there.

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"I am sorry, Miss Waldorf. It was sold a couple of days ago."

She wanted to cry. She knew she should have bought it then. But not even Blair Waldorf bought forty- thousand-dollar jewelry on a whim. Actually, she doubted her mother would have picked that very necklace off her list.

So she chose a few pieces in an acceptable price range and went home. To spend her afternoon trying to work on her English essay and waiting on a text from Chuck. She was beyond pathetic, she knew that. But her birthday, not just her birthday party but her very birthday, was tomorrow and a text, anything, would be a sign that something good was going to happen.

Believing in signs was stupid, though, she concluded when nothing but his usual text came at ten. She knew he was in love with her anyway, so something good was bound to happen tomorrow. And later that night, in between responding to all those messages wishing her a happy birthday, she tossed and turned, imagining how exactly it would happen, what he was going to say, what she was going to say... She finally fell asleep at two.

Now, on Friday morning, she was examining the bags under her eyes in the Bendel compact she kept in her nightstand. They weren't too bad. If she skipped school after lunch and took a nap, everything was going to be perfect. Her conscience complained about that a little, but she shrugged it off. It was her seventeenth birthday, after all. She wouldn't let even the fact that Chuck hadn't sent her a thing bring her down.

After bone-crushing hugs from both Dorota and her mother and a breakfast consisting of three strawberries and a handful of blueberries, she strolled to Constance. She knew everybody was going to be buzzing about her upcoming party and she was going to enjoy that. And enjoy that she did. But he wasn't at school, again. She couldn't but wonder if he was going to show up at Victrola at all.

She had been right to wonder. The party was in full swing, yet he was nowhere to be seen. And she was stunning in her bustier dress with a draped skirt and a big side-bow. Red tights wouldn't have gone well with it, but she was wearing red Louboutins as a compromise. Feeling bile rise in her throat, she touched her simple Bvlgari choker and scanned the room in an attempt to find a distraction.

(Un)fortunately, she found it fast. Serena had already had a bit too much. There could be no other explanation for her current situation. She was on the stage, sandwiched between Anthony and Luke and drinking champagne from Charlie Dern's flute. Blair shook her head and marched to the merry crowd.

"Serena," she hissed into her friends ear, dragging her off the stage and out of the room while the boys snickered, "are you mental?"

"Aren't you aware of the little fact that all that happened there is going to end up on Gossip Girl?" she asked, exasperated, once they were in the corridor. What the hell was going on with Serena again?

"Oh, you're afraid that Nate is going to see the pics?" Serena gave her a little smile. "How sweet of you!"

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Suddenly Serena didn't seem that drunk. Blair frowned. Actually, Serena didn't seem drunk at all.

"What is going on here, S?" Blair asked. "What happened between this afternoon and tonight that's making you exact some convoluted revenge on Nate?"

Her friend bit her lip. "Why would I tell you? It's not like you're telling me anything about you and... Chuck."

Blair closed her eyes as she unconsciously balled her hands into fists. "Because there is nothing to tell about me and Chuck." She so wasn't having this conversation now, not when she wanted to die because there really was nothing between them.

"Now please tell me you and Nate didn't fight again." She looked at her friend expectantly. She did hope to God that nothing serious had happened. She remembered all too well how Serena had taken her last breakup with Nate. And even though she was dying, she didn't want Serena to suffer too. Not Serena, who was the sweetest person in the world and who was even wearing a slouchy gray dress she would never ever wear to go clubbing, thus letting her be the most beautiful girl at her birthday party.

Serena was picking at the ends of her golden mane. "We didn't really fight," she said, throwing her head back a little. "I just found... interesting pictures... of L'Wren Knowes in his phone when I was trying to text you after school."

"What?" Blair was beside herself with anger. She was about ready to find Nathaniel Archibald and rip his heart out.

"He claims that she must've sent them earlier today," Serena was still looking at the floor, "and that he would never have asked her to send them."

"Did he really get them today?"  
Serena nodded, and Blair frowned briefly.

"Maybe he is telling the truth," she said. "We all know what a skank L'Whore is." She let out a little snort.

"Maybe," Serena conceded, "but how can I be sure?"

Blair put her arm around her shoulders. "I don't know, S," she confessed quietly, "but if you love him, I think you should believe him. At least this time."

She felt Serena tense and opened her mouth to say something comforting, when she saw Nate walking towards them. Her heart sank when she realized he was alone.

"Serena," Nate promptly started begging when he was close enough, "at least talk to me. I..."

Blair couldn't hear the rest because Jenny Humphrey, emerging from the coat check, practically yelled, "Happy birthday again, Blair! There are pics from the party on Gossip Girl already; people are saying this is the party of the year!"

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Blair smiled politely at her gushing, focusing her attention on the person behind Jenny, who was wearing something that looked like... American Apparel.

"What is he doing here?" She shot Little J's brother a demeaning glance, not bothering to address him directly.

Jenny suddenly looked unbelievably bashful. "I... um...," she stuttered, "I brought him as my plus one."

"Dan, the name's Dan," Humphrey mumbled.

Blair raised her eyebrows, still talking to Jenny. "The invites were for one person only."

"I'm sorry." Jenny's cheeks were the brightest pink Blair had ever seen.

She sighed. "It's all right," she said as she deigned to give Dan a quick but scrutinizing once-over. "He's presentable enough, I guess."

Little J's face kind of lit up, and Blair smiled, not really knowing why. "Go ahead, have fun!"

It turned out that Nate and Serena had already disappeared, so she followed the Humphries into the main room.

She picked up a flute of Dom at the bar when someone gripped her elbow. She turned out expectantly, only to be disappointed.

"Great party, Blair," Jeremy commented, as devoid of charm as ever. She nodded mechanically.  
"I... uh... wanted to ask you something."  
And she wanted to be anywhere but next to him.

"This cotillion thing," he went on cautiously, "do you have a date?"

She almost gaped at him. The Cotillion! She had basically spent the month of August (and the last ten years) thinking about the perfect Cotillion dress, and now that her debut was less than a month away... She had forgotten about it!

"I would like to accompany you," Jeremy added as if clarification was necessary.

Blair didn't know what to say. A big part of her wanted to scream a no. She knew who she wanted to go to the Cotillion with. But he didn't even come to her birthday.

"I'd love you to be my escort, Jeremy." She nodded joylessly. He grinned at her. "I..."

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Fortunately, his voice trailed off when another familiar voice boomed through the room, over the dance hit that was playing.

"Hi, this is Serena van der Woodsen!" Serena giggled her trademark four-year-old-girl laugh from the confines of the DJ booth. "As you all know, Blair Waldorf is my best friend in the entire world. Tonight, on her seventeenth birthday, I just want to remind her of our fabulous summer!" She giggled again. "This is a song for all our Fridays in the Hamptons and for this night!"

As Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night" started blaring through Victrola, Blair had to wonder if Serena was drunk now. What was she even doing with the DJ?

Then a different voice could be heard, and she got her answer.

"That's very sweet of you, Serena," Whoregina said in a voice of a radio host, "but I think that Blair would prefer 'Teenage Dream'..."

Blair could simply see her blood-sucker grin as she said that.

"...or 'Super Bass,'" she said, pronouncing the last word like Chuck's last name before she laughed that ghastly laugh of hers.

As her blood shot to her face, Blair noticed that Whoregina wasn't the only one laughing. There were people snickering everywhere. She jutted her chin up a bit and took a sip of her champagne. She wouldn't show them they affected her. And she would squash Whoregina like the despicable insect she was.

For the moment, she focused on the stupid song. She didn't want to think about her humiliation and the field day Gossip Girl was going to have with all this.

Last Friday night  
We went streaking in the park, Skinny dipping in the dark, Then had a menage à trois.

"Why wasn't I there when you went skinny dipping in the Hamptons, Waldorf?"

She took a deep breath, ordering her body to stop trembling. "If I ever go skinny dipping, Bass, rest assured that you won't be invited," she said as she turned to face him.

"You want to tell me you've never gone skinny dipping?" He smirked. She huffed. "Who do you take me for?"  
"Good." He grinned.  
She made a face at him.

"I just came from Santa Barbara," he said after a few moments, "and I'm flying to Monaco tomorrow

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morning. My father wants me to go with him."

Even though she was still mad at him for ignoring her, she had to smile at the restrained pride in his voice. "That's nice," she told him. "I mean, it's nice that he wants you to go with him."

There was another pause. And she couldn't take it anymore, this strange behavior of his. "I think I need fresh air."  
"Have you been to the rooftop?" he asked.  
She shook her head.

"The view is amazing." He offered her his hand and she took it.

The view of the ever-bustling city was breathtaking. And it was peaceful up there – neither the sounds from the streets below nor the music from the club could be heard. But it was also cold and Blair was soon shivering in her thin strapless dress.

"I'm sorry," he said.  
He took his jacket off and placed it on her shoulders gingerly.  
"But you're going to freeze," she tried to protest, not too convincingly. "I'll be fine."

Then they stood in silence, looking at the city lights. Blair wondered why he wouldn't say anything. Or at least kiss her. Maybe she should kiss him. First kisses were always awkward, though. She never knew if she would poke his nose with hers or if their teeth were going to collide. She wouldn't survive if she embarrassed herself like that with him. But why wouldn't he kiss her? She knew he was looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her.

She turned around at the same time he took a step forward. Their noses were almost brushing in an Eskimo kiss, and she would have smiled had he not been looking at her like that. Instead, she closed her eyes. Her lips parted slightly, in an attempt to say something, but his silenced them. And then her heart was in her throat and in her ears; there was no room for it in her chest overcrowded with butterflies on speed. His arms were around her. Her hands were in his hair. They were pulling each other closer and closer still until there was nothing, not a single molecule of air, separating them. There was some sensation so familiar, yet so completely new, traveling from the tips of her fingers to her very heart.

It briefly flashed through the haze that her mind was that this was not normal. How could his lips... okay, and his tongue and his teeth, do this to her? She felt that telltale pooling between her thighs she had only been reading about, and her body was arching into his on its own accord. God... She whimpered embarrassingly when his mouth explored the hollow below her ear. His hands roamed her body. She shivered all over, and not because his jacket had long slipped from her shoulders. Oh God... She grabbed a fistful of his hair while her other hand raked up and down his neck, her nails digging

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into his flesh as she was desperately looking for something to hold onto in her lightheadedness. God, God, God, God... She was going to let him take her right here.

When her bare shoulders touched the icy tiles, though, that was like a cold shower. "No," she gasped out.  
His hands froze on her thighs and his mouth abandoned her collarbone.  
"Not here," she whispered breathlessly, " not like this."

He took a step back. "I'm sorry."

Not really knowing what she was doing, she put her arms around him. "Don't be," she murmured into his shirt.

His arms closed around her, and he lowered her forehead to hers. She closed her eyes. They remained like that for a while, until their breathing resumed its normal rhythm. Then he slowly kissed her swollen lips, and she thought she might as well die that very instant.

"I hate to interrupt." Serena sounded like she did want someone to die right then, though it wasn't exactly clear who. "May I have a word with Blair?"

Chuck looked at her, his eyes still unusually dark, and Blair nodded lightly, telling him it was all right.

As soon as Chuck was out of earshot, Serena started talking. "Why wasn't Chuck wearing his jacket?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because he lent it to me," Blair replied nonchalantly. It was high time she let Serena know she wouldn't be having these inane conversations about Chuck with her any longer. "Like any gentleman would have," she added.

Serena scoffed, but chose not to comment on her word choice. "And why aren't you wearing it?" she asked instead.

Blair had had enough. This Twenty Questions game of Serena's was making her seethe.

"Because we almost had sex on this very roof!" she exploded. "Satisfied?"

For a moment, she honestly thought Serena's eyeballs were going to pop out of her head.

"Blair, you can't be serious!" the blonde begged in a slightly shaking voice. "You've always wanted your first time to be special."

Blair rolled her eyes. "Just spare me, Serena!" she barked out maliciously. "Was your first time special? Or was it with Anthony Avuldsen in Luke Goodred's bedroom?"

Serena's mouth opened and then closed again. Her eyes still seemed unnaturally big.

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"And who says my first time won't be special if it's with Chuck?" Blair all but yelled at her. "Maybe it will be special because it's with him!"

Serena covered her face with her hands for a second. "Blair, tell me you're not in love with him. Please."

Blair stayed silent on purpose, her arms folded across her chest and her chin up.

"Blair," Serena continued, this time more firmly, "you're crazy if you think he wants anything but sex. He doesn't do girlfriends. And even if he did... You're setting yourself up for heartbreak, B."

She said the last sentence infinitely softly, which only enraged Blair further. "Oh, will you stop it already!" she shouted. "You're just jealous!"  
Serena's eyes did that weird popping thing again as her lips formed an "o."

"Yes," Blair was furious now, "you're jealous because, unlike any other male on the Upper East Side, he's never paid attention to you." She was waving her arms around. "He likes me instead! He's the only thing besides grades that you can't take away from me! Because to him I am more beautiful and more interesting than you. And you can't stand that!" she finished, out of breath.

"Blair..." she choked out finally. "You're wrong..."  
She took a step in Blair's direction, but Blair just walked past her, uttering a scathing, "Don't." Nearly running towards the door leading back inside, she collided with a willowy black figure.

"What do you want now, Whoregina?" she snapped. "Eavesdropping again? No wonder not even Baizen could love you," she said before hurrying past the other girl, almost knocking her over in the process.

Downstairs again, she opted for retiring to a private room, the one with all her gifts, instead of going back to the party. She needed a little time to herself, to try and process everything that had happened.

Not ten seconds had passed from her collapsing onto a velvet sofa, though, before the door opened. Expecting to see a drunken couple who didn't realize that this room was off limits, she opened her mouth to rebuke them. Her lips curled into a smile when she saw Chuck instead.

"I've been looking for you," he said. "My father called. It seems we're leaving tonight rather than tomorrow morning."

"Oh." She suddenly felt so small. It was like he was never there these days.

"I wanted to say goodbye." He hesitated. "And to see... if you like your gift. I didn't know you were going to put something on hold."

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know I had things on hold?"

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"Nathaniel," he explained as he was rummaging through a pile of neatly wrapped boxes. "I was with him when Serena called. They were going to pick up her mother's and her brother's gift from Tiffany's."

She grinned. "I wonder what Lily and Eric got me!" she said dreamily.

He laughed, presumably at her love for gifts, so she tried her best to give him a stern look. But, wait, was he unwrapping one of her-

"I don't know about them," he said before she could check what he was doing, "but this is from me."

He handed her a thin square black box, which she accepted eagerly; a bit too eagerly, perhaps. It was embarrassing sometimes, but she did adore gifts.

"Did you just rob me out of opening a Tiffany-blue box?" she asked, running her fingers across the velvet box on her lap.

"Yes," he admitted, "because it came with a very clumsy note."

She stood up, smiling. "I want to see that note."

"No."

"It's my note," she pouted, "therefore, I will see it if I want to."

"Technically," he drawled, "it's my note as you still haven't opened the gift."

Her eyes traveled from him to the box in her hand and back to him again. The temptation to open the box was great, but she wanted to know what Chuck had written in his note to her even more.

"That's not true. The note has been mine since the moment the gift entered this room, at the very least."

He shook his head, a little smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "I might let you see it if you finally open that box."

"Fine," she puffed.

She pulled the top of the box up. And then she stared.

"I..." she stammered a little when she was finally able to speak. "I can't accept this."

She wanted to close the box, but she couldn't tear her eyes off the necklace, so she just shoved it into his hands.

"Yes, you can," he said calmly.

She shook her head. "No, I can't," she repeated. "I know... I wanted to put it on hold for my mother. It's too much."

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Chuck didn't say anything. He took the necklace and put the box on the little table littered with gifts. He came to stand behind her and unclasped her choker.

"It was made for you," he said as the platinum band of her new necklace touched her skin. "I knew that as soon as I saw it."

Her fingers trailed over the rubies reverently. It wasn't as if she didn't have a lot of beautiful jewelry. But this was the necklace she'd wanted for her birthday, and it was gifted to her by the one who she wanted... forever.

His fingers intertwined with hers and he kissed the inside of her wrist.  
Every fiber in her body trembling, she asked, "You do... care about me, don't you?"  
He drew in a deep breath. "You have no idea how much," he whispered against her hair.

She had been wrong on the roof. That hadn't been the best moment of her life, although it would have been worth dying. This was. And she didn't want to die. She wanted to live and to feel like this every day. How sad was it that she had never known one could be this happy?

She closed her eyes and relaxed into him as his lips caressed her hair and then her shoulder.  
"Chuck, I..."  
She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but it didn't matter anyway because his phone cut her off. He sighed. "It's Arthur. That means my father is here."  
She turned around, her hand still in his. "When are you coming back?"  
"In two weeks."  
She bit her lip. 'That long?' she wanted to ask. "Call me?" she said instead.  
He brushed her lips with his in lieu of an answer. And he was gone.

But he did call. Every day. She couldn't wait for the night to fall in New York so that the business meetings would not yet begin in Europe. She would tuck herself in and wait for her phone to ring. Sometimes she would call him, before school when she knew he was free in early afternoon. They would talk for hours. About everything, and nothing. Almost one week had passed since her birthday and she still had no idea what they were to each other – officially, to the rest of the world, however you want to phrase it. But she didn't even really care. They both knew that they belonged to each other; that much was clear. Just like her favorite necklace – which she hadn't taken off at all the night of her birthday – had been made for her, the two of them had been made for one another.

So she continued to play along.  
"Sorry, Chuck," she told him on Thanksgiving, "but I think Daddy is here. I heard the elevator."

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"Okay," he said. "I... I'll talk to you later."

Something tugged at her heart, like every time he wouldn't say at least I miss you. But Daddy was here, so she managed to laugh for real when she said, "Later!"

She ran down the stairs. Straight into Cyrus Rose.

"Hello, Blair!" He grinned at her in that irritating goody-goody way of his. "You must be surprised to see me."

No kidding? She couldn't restrain herself – she wrinkled her nose at him. At least he was wearing a better suit this time. "Yes indeed, I am," she told him.

Her mother appeared at that very moment, and she asked immediately, "Mother, where is Daddy?" She wanted to add, "And why is this man here?" but thought better of it.

Before Eleanor could answer, the elevator doors opened again, and Daddy stepped into the foyer. Blair literally jumped with joy and flung her arms around him.

"Daddy! You're here!" she squealed, suddenly reminding herself of her blonde best friend (yes, they were still friends, even though they didn't talk much these days, partly because the van der Woodsens were in St. Lucia for Thanksgiving, with Klaus).

"Blair-Bear!" her father laughed, kissing her on both cheeks. Then he glanced over his shoulder. Taking the hint, Roman approached them. "Blair." He smiled widely.

"Hello, Roman," she said before she turned to Daddy again. Although he was wearing Savile Row, Roman got the same nose-wrinkling treatment as Cyrus Rose.

The dinner was a disaster. Cyrus freakin' Rose and her mother weren't any less mushy-mushy than Roman and her father. What was going on between the two of them anyway? Surely, they couldn't be... together, right? The man was ridiculous! Not much more ridiculous than the French guy who was ogling her father, though. Blair felt sick. She started texting Chuck under the table before they were through with the appetizers.

They are just disgusting. At least your father's sleeping with female models.

True, but at least your father cares about the model he's sleeping with, and vice versa, he replied. But let's talk about something more fun, like what you're wearing right now.

Bass, I'm having dinner with my parents! So?  
So I'm not sexting you.  
As if you would otherwise.

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She pursed her lips. He was right. She wouldn't send him provocative messages anyway. And she also knew what he was trying to do.

I'm wearing a black-and-red knee-length, sleeveless Givenchy dress, and that's all you're getting. And what about your La Perlas?  
She smiled to herself.  
"Blair?" her mother's voice brought her attention back to the table. "What are you doing?" "Nothing, Mother," she replied wearily.

"My Blair-Bear," her father gushed, "always daydreaming."  
"Ah, to be young and in love!" Cyrus Rose chimed in, completely uninvited.

"Who says I'm in love?" She scowled at him. The last thing she needed was her parents asking idiotic questions.

Then Roman decided he had something to say, too, in his stupid French accent. "I have the sixth sense for that, ma chérie!"

"Well, it's rusty then," she told him before she shoved a thick slice of the turkey into her mouth.

It seemed that had worked because the repulsive couples started talking among themselves again and left her alone. She was finally able to continue her correspondence with Chuck.

How would you know they're La Perlas? she asked. Educated guess.  
Well, keep guessing.  
You're ruthless, Waldorf.

You love it, Bass.

There were a couple of minutes of silence before his next message.

Nathaniel tells me J. Scott Tomkinson is talking around that he's taking you to the cotillion.

She bit her lip. She couldn't afford to grin in front of the Spanish Inquisition. He is, she texted back, feigning flippancy.  
Why would you go with him? You'll be bored out of your mind in five minutes. Now she had to grin. Maybe he was the most eligible candidate.

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And what are the eligibility criteria?

He has to be polite and know how to dance. In other words, Bass, you're ineligible.

Ditch him and go to the cotillion with me?

Resisting the urge to jump off her chair and run a victory lap around the table was excruciating. Oh, this was definitely a day for giving thanks! They were moving into the official-couple territory.

Only if your bow tie matches my dress.

Which, of course, was a given, considering the fact that both her dress and his bow tie would have to be white.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Secret **

_'Cause two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. _

"So, are you two together now?" Kati asked with faux flippancy, stuffing her dance shoes into a brown-and-white-striped bag.

Immediately, twelve pairs of eyes all turned to Blair, some inconspicuously and some with unabashed interest.

Blair threw her head back a little and puffed out a gust of air, making a stray strand of hair fly away from her forehead.

"Define 'together,'" she said coolly as she picked up her bag and her Bloch dance shoes. She would have to rebuke Kati later. What was she thinking, asking her questions like that in front of half their class? Well, actually, it was pretty obvious that the fact that she had been cutting every hint of a conversation about her and Chuck off in the stem (even if she _had _wanted to talk about him all the time when she hadn't been talking with him) was the main reason for Kati's sudden courage. Still, the girl needed to behave if she meant to stay her friend, or at least minion.

"So, you're not, B?" Penelope's eyes were all wide and innocent.

"Penelope," Blair said as though she was speaking to an unreasonable child, "when are you going to get it? I'm not discussing my love life with you."

"And only my friends call me B," she added before she left the locker room.

As she walked back to the ballroom, where Chuck was supposed to be waiting for her, her façade crumbled, though. She wasn't surprised that the girls from school wanted to know if Chuck and she were together. She wanted to know, too. This one day since he'd returned from Europe was fabulous, and more. But what did it all mean?

They had met at the closest-to-school 3 Guys in the morning. In fact, to her surprise, he was already

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there when she came in. She had spotted him as soon as she stepped into the diner. He was just as handsome as ever in his St. Jude's uniform; maybe even a tad more than usual, though, as it seemed that he'd acquired some tan under the wintery European sun. She felt that familiar bittersweet clenching in her chest, and she had to fight off the overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms like an idiot.

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment instead, trying to check her reflection in the compact she had tossed into the flap pocket of her black-and-cherry zigzag Milly coat. Good. Her face hadn't turned blue, after all, and her hair was decent despite the humidity. She had no idea why she'd thought walking would be a good idea. Granted, the diner was some five minutes from her building, but still... Then again, had she not walked, her cheeks wouldn't have this rosy hue that no Bobbi Brown blush could give them.

Dropping the compact into her blue Céline Triptyque, she lifted her eyes towards the booth he was occupying again. She was met with a smile which melted her whole.

"Good morning," he greeted as he stood up to help her out of her coat.

"Good morning." She smiled, but the smile was soon replaced by a pout when she realized he would resume his seat without kissing her.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other with mirroring smiles.

"So, how was Europe?" she asked, as if she hadn't already heard almost every detail of his trip. She had even known what he was wearing at nearly every given point, as he'd volunteered that info in his futile attempts to cajole her into phone sex while she blushed on the other end of the line. It wasn't that the idea of phone sex didn't sound... enticing. It was that she would have had no idea what to say, considering the little fact that she hadn't had ordinary sex yet. But that was soon going to change. Her coming-of-age this Saturday was going to be coming-of-age in more than one sense, if she was the one to ask, and she was. She grinned to herself, thinking about a certain something in her closet and about a certain someone removing it...

"Dull," he said after short deliberation, just as the waiter approached them.

"I'll have a glass of water, please," Blair hurried. She was still a bit bloated from her mildly alcoholic Truth or Dare with Eric the night before – Serena had been supposed to play, too, but Whoregina had been in a middle of a crisis involving Baizen and JFK. Served her right.

Chuck frowned. "Can you give us a minute?" The waiter nodded. "Certainly."

"You're not getting a glass of water," Chuck told her when the waiter walked away. "It's breakfast time."

"And I already had breakfast," she lied without batting an eyelash. She had to be perfect on Saturday, for her debut... and for him.

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"You're lying," he said wearily.  
She gasped in false indignation. "Am not!"

"Are too." He held out his hand before she could say anything else. "Just order something that has more than twenty-five calories."

Now she gasped for real. "This is ridiculous!" she barked out at him, her eyebrows knitting together. "Who are you, my father?"

Her scowl only deepened when he laughed.

"Now, that's a disturbing thought, even for me." He exaggerated a leer. "And I'm always for role-playing."

It took some struggle, but her lips didn't curl into a smile. "That was seriously gross." She upturned her nose.

"You started it." Chuck shrugged. "Now order something that can be considered breakfast. And, no, that's not orange juice."

A part of her melted faster than the winter's first snowflakes had melted on her palm that morning. Another, smaller but more powerful, part wouldn't let him treat her like a child, though.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Bass."  
Not unexpectedly, he didn't seem affected by her hostility. "I do like it when the woman is in control."

The gritting of her teeth might have been audible. Why did he always have to turn everything into a dirty joke? "The more I know you, the less witty your retorts are. You're starting to disappoint me, Bass," she said. "Besides, you may want to follow my example and order water. You're getting a bit chunky."

The moment she said it, she wanted to take it back. She'd sounded like her mother. And it was petty, not to mention completely untrue. Alright, maybe he didn't exactly have Nate's – or Jeremy's – chiseled body, but he wasn't fat. And he was like... infinitely more attractive than Nate and Jeremy combined.

"Ouch," he deadpanned, his nonchalant expression not changing. "You wound me, Waldorf. But my dad will be glad to know that the chef in his new hotel in Paris is good."

"Chuck, I-" she started, not even knowing what she wanted to say.

"The question is," he continued as though she hadn't spoken at all, "'Do you like me less?'" He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows slightly, in a silent challenge.

Her mind, fortunately, being quicker than her tongue this time, she narrowed her eyes. She knew exactly what he was trying to do, and he was not going to succeed. She thought about her response for

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a moment, and finally settled on not particularly inventive, "Who says I even like you, Bass?" She certainly wasn't going to discuss a lifetime of her body-related issues with him, not this early in the morning, and certainly not completely sober.

He smirked. "Don't delude yourself, Waldorf."  
Then he grew more serious. "I don't need- Nobody needs you to be perfect."

For some uncanny reason, there was that bothersome prickling in her eyes again. But she managed to laugh a hollow little laugh. "Have you been to the Upper East Side yet, Chuck?"

He reached out and took her hand, which was drawing jerky little patterns on the menu.

"Let me rephrase that," he said. "Nobody needs you to be some kind of imaginary Park-Avenue princess. You're already perfect."

She continued to stare at her menu, the letters becoming increasingly blurry. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, not when she was turning into a wailing mess right in front of his eyes. How pathetic, and what a far cry from perfection... So she just returned the gentle squeeze he gave her hand.

"What if this _is _me, a girl who is happy to have a glass of water for breakfast?" she asked after a while. Her voice was still a bit smaller than she would have liked, but she could at least look at him. And give him a faint smile, even.

"But I know you're not." He was looking at her stubbornly. "You're the girl who couldn't get enough of your father's canapés, no matter the time of day, so your mother's guests were faced with minimalistically-arranged appetizer plates."

Her laugh was empty again. "I talk too much."

"You talk too little."

The corners of her lips quirked up into a real smile this time. "Look who's talking."

A hint of a smile appeared on his lips, and then they sat still for some time, neither rushing to say more.

She was the one who broke the silence at last. "Thank you." His voice was equally soft. "You are."

"Now," she grabbed the menu, trying to lighten the atmosphere and maybe cover her fluster (hey, it wasn't everyday that her... Chuck would say something that beautiful to her; though he was definitely much better boyfriend material than she'd originally thought), "how 'bout we split a Belgian waffle?"

"Split?" Chuck's eyebrows jumped up. "Still worried about my figure, huh, Waldorf?"  
She almost reached across the table and swatted his arm, but then she remembered how unladylike

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that would be. She lightly kicked his shin under the table instead.

His face contorted with pain. Okay, maybe she'd used a bit more force than necessary. It hadn't been on purpose, honestly.

"Ow, what was that for?"  
She tried her doe-eyes. "What?"  
"Blair," he almost growled. Wow, and he was supposed to like it rough?

"It wasn't my intention to hurt your precious self, so unaccustomed to anything athletic that even such a weak little girl as myself poses a serious threat to him," she pursed her lips as he smirked and narrowed his eyes at her little speech, "but you know I just said _that... _the weight thing to... say something."

"Oh, so you do admit that I am utterly irresistible?" He smirked again, naturally.

She tried to kick him again, naturally. (Un)fortunately, he had anticipated that, so his legs were out of her reach.

"You may possess a certain uncouth charm," she allowed graciously, shrugging her shoulders a little. "Now you've truly wounded me, Waldorf." He made a face. "Me, uncouth?"

Too tired to drag on this battle of words, or wits, or whatever, she sighed exaggeratedly. "Alright. I like you, you enormous pain in the... rear."

"Waldorf," he chuckled, "I believe you almost said a bad word."

She instantly smiled back. There was something in the way he laughed, when he laughed honestly, that made him look like a little boy and made you join in.

"So, what are you going to do about that?" she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before she realized what she was doing. Normally, she would only behave like that in front of Serena, and maybe Eric. Oh, scratch that, she was already way past her good-girl boundaries with Chuck.

He put his hand on his mouth, feigning deep thought for a few moments. "Oh, I believe I can think of a suitable punishment. Especially since you're wearing your uniform."

She bit her lip. It was ridiculous how whenever his voice acquired that velvety quality, her eyes fluttered shut and all she wanted was to whisper "Take me now." or some similar nonsense from Dorota's books.

"Um... I'm sorry," the waiter brought her back to reality, "but are you maybe ready to order?"

"We'll split a Belgian waffle," Chuck said, not bothering to fake something like an apology. "I'll have an espresso and the lady..."

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But just as he turned to her expectantly, the lady started to lose it.

"Look what time it is!" she nearly shrieked, having glanced at her phone. "We'll be late for school, Chuck!"

He sighed. "No, we won't. We'll walk, it'll be quicker than taking the limo."

"But homeroom starts in fifteen minutes," she'd planned on saying. "I'll have water, thank you." came out instead. Her attendance was perfect, in spite of those few gym classes she'd skipped, and – who was she kidding – spending homeroom with Chuck would be so much better anyway.

After he had watched her push the same piece of waffle around her plate for five minutes, Chuck finally broke down. "What is it now, Waldorf? You wanted the waffle."

She rolled her eyes as she retrieved a spearmint gum from her bag and popped it into her mouth. "I don't know what I was thinking. I don't even like waffles." In truth, she had just hastily read the first thing she saw on the menu.

"Perhaps because you're partial to these?" he asked, pulling something out from his schoolbag. "I almost forgot about them."

He was saying something else, but Blair was no longer listening. Her eyes were fixed on the large, round brown cat, and all she could think about was that he'd remembered. He had remembered.

"...and, obviously, it was a bonus that the box had a drawing of a cat on it, Kitten."

She didn't even stop to scrunch her nose up at the repulsive nickname before she leaned in across the table, not caring about the propriety of that, and kissed him on the cheek.

"You remembered," she said barely audibly. And added more loudly, "Thank you."

For a handful of moments, they looked at each other, smiling, at it had become their custom. Then Chuck threw a note on the table and stood up. "Come on, I don't want you sulking for the rest of the week if you're late for your first class because of me."

She let him help her back into her coat, and then she tucked her cat-ornamented box of chocolate Pierre Hermé macarons – her favorites, as she'd confided to him in one of their early-morning conversations – under her arm. Ha, and Penelope had thought she was so special when Anthony remembered to bring her a bar – a freakin' bar – of that completely ordinary Godiva that one time. Hermé didn't even have boutiques in the States. She couldn't wait to see the older girl's face when she placed her macarons in her locker, without offering to share them, of course. No, those macarons weren't meant to be shared with her insufferable minions. They were meant to be consumed in a luxurious bubble bath, while she thought about all the ways in which Saturday was going to be pure perfection.

"Nothing," she said in response to Chuck's quizzical look, which had probably come as a reaction to her little sigh of content.

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They were already in front of the school building, and never in her life had she been less inclined to go to class.

"I can be a little late," she offered as they entered the lobby and she felt some color return to her frozen cheeks. In fact, she was already five minutes late, but she didn't really care.

"You can, huh?" he murmured. "And why would you be late?" "Because you're finally going to kiss me."

And kiss her he did... His kisses were less intense than at her birthday party, but she was soon near senselessness anyway. As she brushed her lips against his and tasted his lower lip, she couldn't decide which Chuck she liked better, the more gentle one or the more passionate one. She let herself fantasize about Saturday briefly, and both her heart and her stomach started doing somersaults at the thought of the two of them alone in her bedroom, with candles, him pulling the strap of her dress down her shoulder, undressing her slowly while...

"I think you'd better go to class now," Chuck breathed. It seemed that he had caught on the fact that she was getting too hot and bothered for school.

She shook her head no, too busy reclaiming his lips to talk.

"I'm serious," he somehow managed to say minutes later when they needed to get a bit of air. "The broom closet or whatever is no better than the rooftop of Victrola."

She closed her eyes for a moment, her eyebrows shooting up. "Chuck Bass wants to wait?"

The incredulity in her voice was hard to miss, and for a split second he sort of looked embarrassed. It seemed he wanted to say something, but she pecked him on the lips, silencing him effectively. Then she almost ran to the nearest girls' bathroom.

Where she very literally did a happy dance, chanting under her breath, "He wants to wait, he wants to wait, he wants to wait..."

She threw herself into the nook next to the big round window, a huge grin spreading across her face. Everything was p-e-r-f-e-c-t! He was ready to wait until she was ready. And she was ready. And Saturday would be the best night of her life! Her debutante ball and her first time, with someone she loved and who loved her. Oh, why wasn't it Saturday already?

Especially since on Wednesday she obviously had to endure more of Gossip Girl's stupidity. The blast came just as the bell marked the end of AP History. She didn't even bother reading past the _When Will You Learn, B? _title. She just skimmed through the pics of her and Chuck kissing... okay, maybe making out a little, in the lobby.

"I'll see you later, girls," she dismissed Serena and the minions, before Penelope – who had been waiting in front of their classroom, or at least so it seemed – could throw in a single underhanded comment. She headed to the most secluded part of the courtyard, without actually thinking about what she was doing.

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She hadn't made five steps, though, when someone... Chuck, she could tell, caught her by the hand. "So, I gather you've seen it," he said as she turned around to face him.  
"The blast?" She nodded.  
"It's not...," he hesitated, "it's not true."

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. She didn't even know what the effin' Gossip Girl had said.

"It's not my intention to hide with you in the corners because I want to have sex with you and I'm afraid you'll get all clingy on me," he explained more to the buckle of her coat than to her, having taken her expression as some sort of a truth-assessment of his previous statement.

She frowned. What the hell was he talking about, exactly? She was too stunned to demand a proper explanation or to at least fish her Blackberry out of her bag and actually read the damn post.

But she wasn't too stunned to wrap her arms around his neck when he kissed her. In front of the entire school. Hell, in front of _both _their schools.

She thought her heart was going to leap out of her chest for sure. She didn't make any feeble attempt to hide her ear-to-ear grin as a bunch of cell-phone cameras went off or as they passed her posse, Penelope's eyes even wider than Serena's.

As expected, a new Gossip Girl post was all ready before they could even start talking after another brief kissing session.

_Beauty and the Bass_, this title read. Chuck, who was reading over her shoulder, snorted into her hair.

"You object to anything Bass?" she asked haughtily. "Like me being called Beauty, for instance?"

"No, not at all," he murmured between the little kisses he peppered her hair with. "That's the only truthful thing in that blast."

"You want to say I haven't turned you into a prince?" She smiled as she gave him a quick, feather-light kiss.

"If you wanted a prince, you'd still be with Theodore."

Before she could press the issue further, the wretched Anthony Avuldsen appeared out of thin air, completely uninvited and unwanted.

"Bass, it's basketball time," he drawled out, and Blair rolled her eyes. That tempo only sounded sexy when Chuck used it.

"So, leave your girlfriend alone and get your lazy ass inside," Avuldsen ordered.  
"See you after school." Chuck kissed her, or rather: touched her lips for a fraction of a second.

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"Prescott Dance Studio," she said quickly before he followed Anthony inside.

She felt those stupid, stupid tears gather in the corners of her eyes again. She shouldn't be crying. She had all the reasons to be over the moon. All but one: the look on Chuck's face when Anthony had said "your girlfriend."

So no, she had no idea where they stood, not even after the dance practice, during which they had been praised as the only couple completely in sync with each other. He had kissed her in front of more or less the entire student body of Constance and St. Jude's. Didn't that imply that they were... _official _now? And yet, he'd shot daggers at Nate when the poor blond had joked about Eric, her Monday and Tuesday dance partner, being redundant now that she had a boyfriend.

She paused in front of the ballroom to dry her eyes with the back of her hand. Really, what was wrong with her? Crying so much in one day! And it wasn't even the PMS time yet.

She took a very determined step forward, only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw Chuck... talking with Serena. Who didn't look like she was going to rip his head off any moment.

"What are you two talking about?" Blair smiled as she approached them.

Serena pursed her lips. This close, she didn't really seem to be in a good mood. "I was just giving Chuck some friendly advice... and warning."

"Don't worry, Serena," Chuck said as he wrapped an arm around Blair and kissed the top of her head.

Blair leaned into him, deciding to remain quiet. She didn't feel like hearing all about the ways in which Serena had threatened to maim him if he hurt her.

"Well," Serena turned towards the door, dragging her feet a little in a most unladylike manner, "I have to go meet my mom and grandma now, but we're still on for tonight, right?"

"Sure." Blair nodded without too much enthusiasm.

"And tell Eric again how sorry I am that I forgot to tell him not to come today," she almost yelled as Serena exited the room.

Then she turned to Chuck. "I'm hungry."  
"Thought I'd never see the day." He laughed before he pressed a kiss onto her pouting lips.

Some time later, it was she who laughed as she was dipping a piece of tuna into the wasabi at Sushi of Gari. Honestly, she had no idea why she'd laughed in the middle of their conversation about the preceding dance practice. She'd just felt like it.

"No need to get so giddy about me being an excellent dancer, Waldorf," he said, taking a sip of sake instead of his usual scotch. "You should have just had a little faith. I did attend the Knickerbocker Cotillion from fourth to sixth grade."

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"You're lying," she accused, pointing her chopsticks at him. "We would've met."

He sighed dramatically. "Alas, I was asked not to come back." He snickered a little. "I still remember dear ol' Dad's face."

"What did you do?" Blair asked, picking her water up.  
"Some idiot from Dalton dared me to bring _Playboy _and _Penthouse_."

She snorted her water out of her nose. Then she quickly, and above all discreetly, turned around to see if anybody had seen that. Thankfully, they had a pretty secluded table, so she was free to return to shaking her head incredulously.

"That was you?" she asked. "We all heard about that. You were Luke's hero!" Chuck just nodded proudly.

"Well," she said calculatedly, a moment later, as she seemingly focused on getting just the right amount of the wasabi on her salmon, "who would have thought all those years ago that we would be going to my debutante ball as an official couple?"

When he didn't say anything, she looked up, something cold spreading through her and squeezing her throat. "Or maybe I'm wrong?" She hoped that didn't sound as pathetic and choked up as she felt.

He was looking down at the table now, and she was getting more angry with every new tear that threatened to fall.

"Alright," she said icily. "Now that we have established that we're nothing, I-"

"We're not nothing." His eyes were still glued to the table.

"That might be a tad more believable if you would look at me," she bit out.

He did look at her, but she almost wished he hadn't. She couldn't tell what exactly that look meant, only that it didn't mean anything good.

"Blair," he said quietly, "I have never..."

He trailed off, and she had no intention of supplying the words for him. She just waited in silence, refusing to break the eye contact, even though the intensity of his stare was proving to be too much to handle.

"I have never had a girlfriend." The words tumbled out of his mouth. It was like he was ripping off a band-aid – the faster you pull it, the sooner you get it over with.

Then he returned to studying the table, or his plate, or whatever, and she waited until she was fairly certain her voice wouldn't quiver.

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"And you don't care enough about me to even try." That wasn't a question; it was a statement. His eyes shot to her face. "I..."

And she was sure he did care. But that wasn't enough. Longing looks, and expensive gifts, and stolen kisses weren't enough anymore. She wanted to hear it. She needed to hear it. She had shown him parts of her that she hadn't shown anyone. It was only fair that he should be able to tell her he was in love with her.

"I..."

But he wasn't.

"Thank you for the dinner," She slipped off her chair. "Goodbye, Chuck."

"There must be something wrong with me," she cried into Serena's hair that evening. "Why wouldn't he have been able to say it otherwise?"

"Nothing," Serena said firmly as she rubbed her back, "absolutely nothing is wrong with you. Don't you ever say that again. Chuck- he," she amended, as Blair's weeping gained intensity at the mention of his name, "is like that. Who knows why, but he is."

The "I told you so." that Blair was half-expecting never came, though, and for that she would be eternally grateful to her best friend.

Almost an hour later, her tears and her smudged makeup wiped away, she asked, more herself than Serena, "How am I going to go to school tomorrow? Or to cotillion?"

Serena gave her a bear hug. "You're Blair Waldorf."

But that magic sentence wasn't enough to fix things up. Not even close. Blair tossed and turned all night, falling asleep every half an hour, only to wake up with a start after she would fail to cross a bridge, her minions cheering against her from the banks, or after everybody laughed in her face at the ball.

After a night of those evil, eery faces and cold sweat, she woke up with a temperature. Or at least that was what Dorota said when she peeked into the room when she failed to get down for breakfast.

"You burning, Miss Blair." The maid clucked. "I tell Miss Eleanor this ball thing too much for a young girl."

At the word "ball," the room started to spin.  
"Nonsense," Blair said sharply. "Besides, I'm not even going."  
Dorota froze. "You not going? But the dress-"  
"I don't care about the dress!" Blair would have yelled if she were able to. "I don't care about the ball,

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I don't care about anything! Now go away!"

Dorota did go away, muttering something in Polish along the way, but she soon returned with a cup of steaming tea.

"Drink that, Miss Blair," she said as Blair turned her face away from the steam. "Your mama will worry."

Blair snorted. "Yes, Mother will be worried. Everybody will be worried, because everybody just cares _so _much about me!"

Then she rolled on her side, the monstrous pounding in her head miraculously disappearing as she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was dark. The thick curtains were drawn and only the faint light from her little lamp illuminated her mother's face.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily.

"Eleven."

"I think I'm ready for some dinner," she slurred her words together.

"It's eleven in the morning, Blair," her mother said. "It's Friday."

Blair tried to remember what day it had been when she fell asleep, but thinking hurt. And her throat was raspy.

"Can I have some water, please?"

Her mother got up and handed her a glass from the nightstand, flaring her nostrils at something that looked like peonies, pink peonies. Her favorite.

"Dr. Greene says you probably walked too much in the cold," Eleanor said. "You know you should be more careful, Blair, with how sensitive you are to cold weather."

Blair nodded weakly, eyeing the flowers. Had Mother bought them to cheer her up? Had he sent them?

"There isn't anything else that could have caused the fever?" Eleanor was eyeing her in turn. "Something that I should know?"

Blair shook her head.  
"I'm just really hungry," she added in a small voice.

"I'll get you some soup. Dorota should be here any minute, so she can make you something else. You scared us both to death." Eleanor started towards the door, but then she hesitated a little and walked

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back to the nightstand.

"These came yesterday afternoon," she said as she caressed Blair's forehead. "And he came in the evening. I had to shoo him out personally; Dorota couldn't deal with him." She picked up a note from the flowers. "You may want to read this."

Blair yelped a little as she snatched the note from her hand. "You didn't read it while I was sleeping, did you?"

Her mother gave her one of her signature half-smiles. "I didn't. Dorota wouldn't let me." "Good," Blair breathed out, too tired to pretend she didn't really care.  
Her mother placed a little kiss on her forehead. "I'll go get that soup."

Long after she left, Blair was staring at the little envelope, her fingers trembling. She wanted to know what was in there, she wanted to know so badly, and yet she had sworn not two days ago that she was forever finished with him. Between a rock and a hard place indeed... In the end, fearing that Mother would return any moment, she took a deep breath and ripped the envelope open.

_I called when you didn't show up at school. Dorota told me you're sick. May I at least see you? I'm an idiot.  
-C _

She pressed the note to her chest, trying to calm that stupid, treacherous heart down, fearing to hope. But, as usual, hope refused to die when ordered. And, despite her better judgment, Blair couldn't but feel gleeful that she still could have her perfect Saturday.

She spotted her Blackberry on the nightstand, and texted him quickly.

_Yes, you are an idiot; and, no, you cannot see me or hear from me until the ball tomorrow night. I'm at least three dress fittings behind and completely dehydrated. I'll have to trust your judgment when it comes to your tux. DON'T text back; I've got no time for that. _

'More likely, I'm afraid of what you might or might _not _say.' She sighed, just as Eleanor and Dorota walked through the door.

Chuck had texted back once until Saturday evening, but she'd ignored him. It was only when she needed to tell him she would be coming to the Waldorf-Astoria with Eleanor – who was to jet off to Paris (and leave the penthouse completely empty) as soon as the deb presentations were done – and they should meet there, that she sent him another message.

Then she turned to her mirror again, examining herself in her Kiki de Montparnasse bodysuit. It was nude, with the palest lilac lace panels at the front and back. And it was perfect. It was flattering; it drew the attention away from her shortcomings. Not that they would be clearly visible. There would have to be candles. She wasn't sure how she was going to take care of that if they ended up at the

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Palace instead of her penthouse. Anyway, the lights would be out. And there would be some soft, but sexy music playing. Though she didn't really know how she was going to pull that off. She would probably look like a weirdo if she tried to start her iPod up in the middle of... Either way, she was sure he was going to like her lingerie. It wasn't frilly. It had nice, simple, curve-hugging lines, showing that she was not a girl but a woman. It truly was beautiful. She was beautiful in it, even she could admit it.

She had taken the cash from an ATM almost two weeks ago. She didn't want to risk Eleanor seeing Kiki de Montparnasse on her credit card if this month was one of those when she checked her statements. But it had all been so worth it! The stealthiness, the boutique-scouring...

She spun once, slowly, looking at the mirror the entire time. Surely, he would like her in this? She smiled a sad little smile. What about after it was removed? Would he still like her then? She forced herself to breathe. He wanted her, he thought she was pretty – no, not pretty, gorgeous, perfect even. He thought she was gorgeous. Everything was going to be okay. Even if...

So what if they weren't "official?" She didn't want them to be, not if that would mean losing what they had, not if that would mean making him say things he wasn't ready to say. She knew he _was _in love with her, and that was enough. Because nothing could be wrong if it involved true love, the kind she felt for him, the kind she knew he felt for her. Tonight, she wasn't going to lose anything. She was going to give herself to him because she wanted to, because she loved him. Even if he wasn't her boyfriend.

She hugged herself. Everything was going to be okay, more than okay.

"Blair, are you ready?" her mother's voice came through the door, followed by what Blair knew was a perfunctory knock.

She ran into her closet. "Just a moment, Mother!"

She slipped into her dress, an absolutely magnificent Waldorf original she'd helped design. It was gorgeous in its simplicity. She knew that the other debs, apart from Serena, were going to have elaborate dresses full of tulle, lace and crystals. The only somewhat elaborate details on her silk gown were the little pleats on its rectangular neckline and its waistband. The skirt was just rich enough not to look fluffy and ridiculous, and it hugged her in all the right places and in all the right ways.

She looked at her reflection again. And perhaps for the first time in her life, she was completely satisfied with everything she saw. Her hair and makeup were perfect, thanks to Fekkai and Jennifer Behr's, so thin it was barely visible, silk headband embellishing her simple chignon. Her white Louboutins were comfortable enough for an entire night of dancing. Her lingerie and her dress were too beautiful for words.

Now she only needed a final touch... She took her ruby necklace out of its box and clasped it around her neck.

She smiled. "Perfect," she whispered as she ran her fingers across the gems.  
Her mother, who had obviously entered the room some time ago, kissed the top of her head gingerly.

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"Perfect indeed."  
Others thought so, too, apparently.

"Blair, you're _gorgeous_!" little Jenny Humphrey, one of the volunteers, gushed as someone shoved a camcorder into her face.

"Ugh, what's going on?" Blair complained snappily. Posing for pictures was one thing, getting molested was something completely different.

"Vanessa," Jenny chided the person in tacky animal-print rags behind the lens, "stop doing that!"

"Oh, so that's not your brother, then?" Blair mocked. "That looks like something he'd wear. The crazy tortured artist and stuff..."

Jenny didn't seem to have caught the mockery, though. "Nu-uh, Dan's already inside."

"What is he, a cater waiter?" Blair asked, noticing irritably that she was spending too much time talking to Little J while she was trying to spot Chuck... or Serena... or at least Kati and Iz.

Jenny laughed. "No, he's escorting Laura Salmon."

"Good for him, not so good for Laura," Blair muttered as she finally spotted Nate and then – of course – Serena.

She didn't get further than calculating the smallest distance to them, though. A gloved hand captured her gloved hand, and despite the lack of skin-on-skin contact, she shivered.

"You look..." he started, the admiration and fire in his eyes telling more than his words could, "incredible."

"Girls on this side!" one of the photographers shouted before she could tell him how incredibly delicious he was in his tux, and she found herself dragged across the floor by giggling Kati and Iz in identical dresses with enormous tulle-covered skirts.

"You two are gorgeous." Her mother stole her from her friends for a second, disregarding the photographer's exasperation. "I'm glad that Whitney kid isn't your escort," she whispered.

"Scott Tomkinson, Mother," Blair whispered back.  
"They're related." Eleanor waved her hand dismissively before Blair rejoined other debutantes.

The presentations were a blur. Everything was a blur ever since she had tucked her arm under Chuck's. She was so glad this wasn't one of those balls where she would have to be escorted by a West Point cadet or something equally ridiculous, as well. She wouldn't be able to enjoy that glorious moment when Serena's grandmother announced, "Blair Cornelia Waldorf, daughter of Harold and Eleanor Waldorf, escorted by Charles Bass."

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And then, as they disappeared upstairs, her hand slipped into his. He traced small patterns, something that resembled words she couldn't decipher, on her silk-covered palm while they waited for the rest of the debs to be presented.

By the time the first dance started, she was about ready to go back home. With Chuck, of course. But spending the rest of the evening in his arms in public before spending the night in his arms in a more... intimate setting – she shivered lightly again – wasn't too bad, either.

He spoke first, precisely during that first waltz. "Blair, I need to tell-"  
She hurried to silence him. "I have something to tell you, too. And I'm going to go first," she declared. When she didn't say anything else for a couple of moments, he asked, "Well?"

"Not now," she whispered, enjoying his proximity and the way he looked at her. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say. He was going to be brave enough to tell her he was in love with her. And her heart was unbelievably close to exploding. But she had to tell him first. She had to tell him she wanted them to... make love tonight, not to reward him for telling her he was in love with her but because _they _were in love, and had been for quite some time.

"Why not now?" he interrupted her thoughts.

She smiled slyly. "Patience is a virtue, Bass."

"I've never been virtuous, Waldorf," he said, pulling her a bit closer.

"I know." She rolled her eyes at him as she smiled again.

The waltz was over soon, and she wasn't too sad about that. There would be plenty of dancing with Chuck this evening, but right now she needed to blot her nose and check her lip gloss.

"I'm just going to go freshen up a little," she told him. "Posing for photos always wears me down."

"Want me to escort you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'll be back in a minute."

And she was gone, but not before she placed a little surprise kiss on his lips. She didn't care who saw them. She was his, girlfriend or not. And he was hers. It was that simple.

A few minutes later, she was about to put her opera-length gloves back on and exit the bathroom when a black figure materialized behind her. Whoregina, of course. Who else would look like she was at a funeral and not a cotillion?

"Snow White," she nearly purred, flipping her long hair back, "even I have to admit you're beautiful tonight."

"Thank you, Georgina," Blair said curtly. She was itching to ask, "How's Baizen, by the way? Still 'all

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alone' in Dubai?" but she didn't have neither the time nor the nerves to deal with Georgina and her craziness tonight.

"And you and Bass make quite a couple," Whoregina went on with her spiel. "It's so nice of you to take Serena's leftovers," she said in a voice brimming with support and understanding, but her trademark vampire grin would have revealed her real intentions had Blair not been aware of them.

"Excuse me." Blair tried to pass by her. This wasn't a night for dealing with idiotic wannabe schemers who hated her. She could ruin Whoregina tomorrow.

But Georgina wasn't giving up that easily. "No!" she gasped in mock horror. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

Blair sighed tiredly. "Whatever convoluted story you have to tell, Georgina, just spare me. I'm not interested," she told her as she took another step towards the door.

"Personally, I find it a rather cute story," Georgina gripped her arm with a force unexpected of someone that skinny. "You know, a young, innocent Serena losing her virginity to Chuck Bass." She laughed with unadulterated malice.

Blair felt her nail break as it tried to sink into the marble of the countertop. Of course this... _creature _was just trying to hurt her. Still, her heart was deadly silent, and it must have shown, as the other girl cooed, "Oh, you really didn't know, Snow White!"

"Get out," Blair choked out through her parched throat. "Out!"

Georgina obeyed, but the echoes of her diabolic laughter could be heard long after she and her sickening oriental perfume were gone.

The bitch had been lying. There was no doubt about that. Blair pinched her cheeks mechanically, to bring some color back to them. The bitch had been lying.

The bitch had been lying. Yet, there was this little worm, nibbling on her brain, as she walked down the hallway. All Serena's warnings, from that first night in the Hamptons onwards, were replaying in her head, until she wasn't sure where exactly she was at the moment. Georgina's "A young, innocent Serena losing her virginity to Chuck Bass." was on a loop on its own, deafening the choir of Serenas from time to time. She was going insane, for sure.

Relief swept through her as she spotted a swirl of golden curls coming her way. "Serena, we need to talk," she said, her breathless voice like a stranger's to her ears. "I can't..." was everything her friend could say before her voice broke.

That was when Blair noticed her eyes were red and her nose runny. But she couldn't think about why Serena had been crying, or she would definitely go stir crazy. She needed her to confirm Whoregina had been lying. Then she could comfort her, spend the entire night with her if necessary... She just needed the truth first.

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"Serena," she began, noticing with horror that her voice was bordering on hysteria, "Georgina has told me this crazy story... But your first time was with Anthony; you told me about it the next day. It was two years ago, I remember..." Her hands were trembling more and more violently, so she grabbed the skirt of her dress, twisting the silk between her fingers mercilessly. "Of course you didn't lose your virginity with Chuck."

Her eyes were boring holes into her friend as she waited for a heated denial. But Serena kept staring at the floor. So Blair felt that very floor slipping from beneath her.

"Oh my God..." she whispered, her hand flying to her throat. She was choking. "You did... You did sleep with him."

The first shock loosening its steely grip, she turned on her heel, almost losing her balance, and ran back into the bathroom. Her hands were still shaking uncontrollably, but she managed to lock the door. As she slid down to the tiles, not even remembering her precious dress, she finally felt the hot tears that were streaming down her makeup-coated face. She bit into her hand to stifle the sobs.

She had been so, so, _so _incredibly, utterly, unbelievably stupid to think she could ever be special to him! Who knew how many, apart from her "best friend," had given him their virginity. Who knew how many idiots had spent days trying to find the perfect lingerie, for him... How many fools had stood in front of their floor mirrors for hours, wondering whether he would like them in Kiki de Montparnasse? How many had spent more nights dreaming awake about him than actually sleeping?

She shook her head as her body was slowly ceasing to shake.

She was nothing but another of those fools. She should have never let herself believe he could... No, not even for a second. She was nothing to him. Just an easy lay. Another virgin to fuck and tell. He must have laughed at her behind her back. They both must have.

And the tears poured out again. And then stopped again. And someone knocked on the door.

She jumped to her feet. She wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing her like this. Nobody would ever know she had ever cried because of him... because of _them_. Her lips twisted in disgust. She quickly checked herself in the mirror. It wasn't too bad. Nothing that couldn't be put down to a little cold wind and maybe a few rough kisses.

"Where have you disappeared?" Kati asked, grinning knowingly, when she unlocked the door. Blair forced a ghost of a smile. "I have to go."

She hurried down the hallway, to coat check. She would hail a cab and go home... Yes, she would go home to sleep... And never think again. Never think about... Chuck, who was right in front of her.

He took her hands, and she hated herself for not recoiling in disgust. "Your hands are cold," he observed.  
She made herself offer him a little smile. "I was outside."

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He frowned, but didn't expect further clarification. He just asked, "Where are your gloves?"

Her eyes flew down to her hands. She really wasn't wearing her gloves. Fortunately, it seemed that she hadn't given herself bite marks while...

"I must have left them behind when I was washing my hands," she said. "Do you want to get them?"  
"No, no, it's okay." She managed another smile. "I'll get them later."  
He frowned again. "Okay."

Neither spoke for a while, and she tried to pull her hand away from his slowly, but he only gripped it tighter.

"What did you want to tell me?"

It took all the strength she could ever muster not to start crying again. This had been supposed to be the best night of her life and... She couldn't even look at him now.

"Oh... I..." she stalled, as she was trying to come up with a lie, any lie, frantically. She wouldn't let him see how hurt she was. He mustn't know how much power he had... he used to have over her.

"Blair, I..." he started cautiously when she didn't say anything for a while.

She cut him off, her voice horribly high-pitched. She would have died for those words a mere hour before. But not now, not now; she thought she would surely die if he lied to her now. "We can't be seeing each other anymore, Chuck."

"Why?"

She jutted her chin forward, challenging his frown. "Because I'm in love with someone. And he... he's jealous," she told her pathetic lie slowly.

He didn't seem to buy it. "You can't be serious." He almost snorted. "Even if Jeremy was capable of being jealous _and _even if you liked him in the first place, you'd never let anyone tell you what you can do, who you can see."

"I'm serious." She squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the final hit. "It's not Jeremy. And the decision is mine. I love him," she was telling a lie after a lie after a lie, her insides tearing apart at the despair in his eyes. At something that resembled despair in his eyes. He was probably just disappointed that his plans for the night were falling through. He didn't... care about her, at all. He wouldn't have been lying for months...

She took a deep breath. "And you're just an acquaintance. It was amusing hanging out with you, but I've had enough."

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"You're lying," he gritted through clenched teeth, his hold on her hand becoming unbearable.

"I'm not," she tore her hand away. "You don't know me at all."

"Blair!" he yelled after her as she scurried down a flight of stairs.

She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "This thing between us... It's over, for good," she said. "Deal with it."

She strode to the main entrance, but when she caught a glimpse of her mother, she started running in the opposite direction, horrified. Her mother could never, _never_, see her like this. But she still wanted to go home. She needed to go home or she would go completely crazy...

Thinking she remembered where the kitchen was from one of her visits to the hotel with Daddy, she rounded the corner. Only to stumble over a bottle.

"Easy there," Nate slurred as he tried to keep both her and the bottle from falling.

She slumped down next to him wordlessly. It seemed that when the Golden Boy had problems, he at least knew what to do to feel better. She picked up the bottle and took a log swig. It wasn't Dom, but it burned against her throat deliciously, viciously, making her focus on the physical pain.

"I told her I loved... I love her," Nate said. Maybe to her, maybe to the wall. She didn't know and she didn't care.

"She said we can't be together... anymore," he slurred on.

Blair threw her head back, letting another stream of champagne course through her.

"She slept with him," she told Nate, _his _best friend, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like a common whore, which she had almost become this very evening. "He slept with her, with my... friend. Before he went away, I guess."

She wasn't even sure Nate had heard her. He was still staring blankly, God knew at what. So she took another gulp.

Then she heard voices around the corner. And very deliberately pulled Nate to herself, pressing her lips onto his furiously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Weak **

_If I opened my heart, there'd be no space for air 'cause I wanted you. _

A couple of hasty, sloppy kisses more and she rolled her dress up to her hips. Trashed, Nate fiddled with his belt. She was sprawled on something cold, tiles maybe. She closed her eyes, pulling him on top of her.

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Her mind was swimming in an alcohol-induced haze. It was like she was half-asleep; she barely felt Nate's open-mouthed, drunken kisses along her neckline. Soon, or maybe it wasn't so soon – she had no idea, she became acutely aware of the pain, though. It was getting sharper, sharper, sharper. It was excruciating. She bit down on her lip. She pressed her nails into her palms. The pain became unbearable and she whimpered, feeling blood trickle down from her lip to her chin. She let her tongue swipe over her lip, healing it. She felt the metallic taste of blood and something salty. Tears, she realized. Her stomach lurched.

She sprung up. Her heart was still beating at a pace she had no idea was possible. As her fingers dug into the blue silkiness of her sheets, she realized it had been sweat. Not tears, sweat. And there was no blood anywhere. But there was pain, and pain of the physical kind in her stomach, too. And the need to vomit.

She jumped off the bed, her limbs getting caught up in the duvet. She shrugged it off with quick, jerky movements as she was running to the bathroom.

A minute later, when she averted her eyes from the gruesome sight of something that used to be Dorota's chocolate cake before she had devoured and then hurled it, she was sure she had never hated herself more. She had brought it all upon herself. She had...

Earlier that night, at the Waldorf-Astoria, the voices she had heard before kissing _his _best friend and _her _love had become more and more quiet, until they melted into silence. Her fingers, which had been clutching Nate's lapels as though her life depended on them, went limp. Why would she have even thought he would be looking for her? Why, when he could just call one of his other whores?

"Rain," Nate slurred.

Blair's eyes slanted as she gripped the champagne bottle, feeling murderous rage build inside of her. This... golden boy, Nate, he was the same as... him. They were all the same. Not twenty minutes ago, he had been proclaiming his love to... _Serena_, and now he was calling his ex's name.

"Rain," he repeated stubbornly, tilting her chin up with his unsteady fingers, "want one of these?" Blair let out a disjointed giggle. Was half a bottle enough for him to get trashed? God, she looked

_nothing _like Rain Hoffstetter, except for dark hair and fair skin!  
"Rain?" Impatience was lacing Nate's voice as he shoved a hand under her nose. A hand full of

white... pills.

Blair swallowed. Were the pills making him confuse her with Rain? Well, in that case... she certainly wasn't going to take them. If she wanted revenge, she had to be able to think clearly. Champagne was different. It only dulled... everything... somewhat.

When she remained silent, Nate shrugged and popped another pill.

"No," she said firmly as he tried to unglue the bottle from her hand. She didn't know much about drugs, but she did know it was a bad idea to mix pills with alcohol. And Nate already looked

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half-dead, and not in his usual I-just-smoked-all-the-weed-in-the-city way.

"Don't you just... you know, smoke pot?" she asked. The way his pupils contracted whenever he tried to focus on something was both irritating and scaring her.

He made another attempt to get the bottle, but she was faster. She took another long, long swig. "I didn't bring... tonight," he said finally. "An' 'nthony says these are..."

Blair wasn't paying attention any longer. She was feeling too hot and the opposite wall seemed to move. She tipped the bottle up to her lips again. A thin stream of champagne tainted the front of her dress. It would stain. She didn't care. Her night had already been ruined. Her _life _had already been ruined. Her supposed best friend had slept with... She couldn't... She couldn't even think about that. It was like ripping her heart out. All that time spent finding perfect lingerie. Starving herself to look perfect. Primping every night and every morning with even more than her usual utmost care. For someone who had lied to her, who would have left her in the morning... if she was lucky.

Taking advantage of her inattentiveness, Nate managed to snatch the bottle and take a long gulp. Oh, how she envied him and his drug-muddled brain! He almost seemed... content.

And she... She couldn't not think about _that_. About _them_. Whether her eyes were open or closed, they taunted her. She pressed her hands to her temples savagely, to squeeze all thought out of her head. She couldn't take it any longer, the picture of tangled limbs rolling on satin, a picture which probably was from one of the romance movies she had seen, only the actors were _them _now. She could almost hear their moans. She shivered to the core with revulsion. She needed a distraction, sorely, and fast.

"He slept with her," she choked out again, focusing on the sound of her voice as the ruby necklace throttled her.

Now Nate wasn't listening, though. He dropped the bottle on the floor with a thud which drowned another pair of voices for a moment.

She was sure this time. She didn't know what he was saying, or to who, but she would recognize the Basstard's voice anywhere. So she looked up at Nate and pulled him closer, again. How convenient that he thought she was his girlfriend. How nice of him not to bring his stash because of that blonde slut. And how nice of Avuldsen to give him those happy pills. She laughed inwardly. But even she knew that laugh was empty, devoid of the glee she was trying to convince herself she was feeling. Revenge always gave her glee. Why not now? Would she only feel pain from now on? That stupid, crippling pain that only weak girls felt? She wasn't weak. She was the Queen... God, she hated him! With all her being.

She sucked on Nate's lower lip, thinking about him. She couldn't hear his voice anymore, but his footsteps were getting louder. Too bad they weren't accompanied by clicking of heels. She hoped _she _would see her with someone _she _loved, even though she wasn't exactly fucking him... like _she _had. But at least he would see her with his best friend. While wearing his necklace. Oh, was she glad she hadn't ripped it off... Even if he didn't care, which he did... he didn't, his ego was going to take some beating. And he wasn't much more than his giant ego. He was nothing, nothing to her. She would get

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her revenge and forget about him forever.

She smiled at him over Nate's shoulder when he finally rounded the corner. She could swear she heard her own face crack a little. A jumble of emotions flickered across his face. Surprise. Hurt? Anger. Had she not been that drunk, she'd pick up more of them. His jaw was set and his eyes, when she looked into them, were dark and unwavering. So, he was furious because someone else was playing with his toy of the day. Or maybe... She didn't want to even think about that, but... What if... What if it hadn't all been a lie? What if he...

As she stared drunkenly into his eyes, her blood and her brain, her whole being, screamed at him to tear her away from the other boy. "I love you. You belong to me." And all would be forgiven. All the pain from the last hour, everything... Everything would be right. She would hide her face in his shirt. He would say he was sorry. She would say it was okay. He would bury his face in the crook of her neck and they would just hold each other and he would say he had always, always loved her.

But he was just standing there like a statue. She threw him another desperate look. She was pleading with him silently to show her she meant something to him. He took a resolute step forward and she smiled.

_I love you. You belong to me. _

He took his phone out and snapped a picture of her and Nate, whose dry lips were now, and probably had been for a while, on her shoulder. And he disappeared.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled Nate by the hair, bringing his mouth to hers once more. She had been nothing, she was nothing to him. She was nothing. And they both had to pay. He would never have her. Least of all untainted. And the bitch wouldn't have her first love first.

"Come on, Nate," she urged him as she got up, her head spinning just a little. They had to find a less public place, rent a room, maybe. But the idiot wouldn't get up from the floor. "Come on, Nate." She clucked as she pulled his arm upwards.

He mumbled something completely unintelligible, and managed to get on his knees. She rolled her eyes at him. Why did he have to make it all so difficult? She just wanted to be done with it. How long was it going to last anyway? Ten minutes? Fifteen? How long was that run-of-the-mill penetration going to last?

She felt a single tear rolling down her cheek. She wanted to slap herself across the face. What did it matter, anyway? What did it matter who she was going to lose her virginity to? Nate, Jeremy, Theodore... Chuck... They were all the same. They didn't love her, and she didn't love them. She didn't; she wouldn't. End of story.

She re-diverted her attention to the pathetic excuse for a human being next to her. He had somehow got on his feet, but he was swaying from side to side slightly. Really, if he knew he couldn't do drugs, he shouldn't have done them.

"Come on, Nate," she repeated. "Let's find-"

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She gaped as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into a neat little pile. "Nate!" she screamed. God! What was she supposed to do now? Was he...

"Out of the way," a somber-faced giant in an ill-fitting black suit muttered as he hooked his hands under Nate's arms and picked him up.

"Come on, son," he said a couple of times as he was dragging a mumbling Nate... somewhere, the tips of Nate's shoes hitting the floor every now and then.

Blair trotted behind them with as much dexterity as she was able to muster, relieved that the blonde at least was alive.

She didn't flinch when she found herself in a men's bathroom and the man stuck his finger down Nate's throat.

"You rich kids..." He shook his head as Nate vomited. "I'm sick and tired of cleaning up your messes." She spoke up, her voice small. "Shouldn't we... call an ambulance?"  
The man flashed his teeth at her. "And cause a scandal? Isn't that what you people abhor?"  
"But... Nate..." she nearly stuttered.

The man smiled more warmly this time. "Nah, he'll be fine."

"Trust me, I've seen much worse," he added, prompted by the depth of her scowl. "I wasn't always security at rich brats' events. No offense."

Nate lifted his head and smiled one of his dopey smiles. Thankfully, no traces of vomit could be seen, but she felt sick nonetheless.

"You look like you could use fresh air." The man nodded towards the door.

Blair didn't argue. Nate was going to be fine. And she needed to go home and sleep. And wake up and realize it had all been a nightmare.

She exhaled loudly as she closed the door behind her. And found herself face-to-face with Hazel and her enormous skirt, as well as Penelope and her cut-out disaster of a crimson dress.

"What were you doing in the men's bathroom, B?" Penelope teased, her eyes dancing slyly. Blair deliberated for a few moments.

"Having sex with Nate Archibald," she said finally. Her face transformed into a self-satisfied mask. "He's pretty good, actually," she threw in saucily before she walked away.

There. She had got her revenge. And she hadn't even had to endure drunken sex in a hotel room. She knew Penelope and Hazel would tell everyone, including Serena. Hell, they would probably tell

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Serena first. And Chuck...

She picked her coat up. The concierge called her a town car... or a cab, whatever it was. She climbed up to her room without turning on a single light in the empty penthouse.

The jasmine-and-rose-musk-scented candles were waiting for her in the dark. The first one ended up in her shoe collection, the second one bounced off the vanity mirror, the third one hit Marie Antoinette on the head. She had no idea where the rest of them ended up. At least until she started picking them up methodically a minute later. One after another, she placed them in her arms as silent tears fell onto her hands. Then she threw them to trash.

She went back to her bedroom, unclasped her necklace and returned it into its box with steady hands. She fished a nightie from a drawer. It was a white La Perla, possibly the most modest model of them all. Well, it was appropriate for someone who would die a virgin, she thought wryly, and not for lack of trying to be a whore. She took off her dress and placed it on the bench at the foot of her bed carefully. Dorota would take care of it in the morning.

She started towards the bathroom, to remove her make up, but she stopped as the thought of Dorota and her gift crossed her mind. Still barefoot, she padded down to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

There it was, in all its glory: her favorite chocolate cake with maraschino cherries. Dorota had made it especially for tonight, for her debutante ball. She pulled the silver tray out of the fridge and put it on the counter. She found a fork in one of the drawers. She didn't bother with a knife, or a plate.

"It isn't like anybody else is going to eat it," she reasoned out loud. "And I wouldn't know how to cut it right anyway. But I'll only take a bite."

She almost believed herself as she stabbed the cake for the first time, right into the center, the very heart. Why should any heart be spared tonight?

As she shoveled forkful after forkful into her mouth, she could see streams of her tears dampening the progressively smaller cake. It was gross. But she couldn't stop herself. Either from crying or from eating. She squeezed her eyes shut for the umpteenth time in the last few hours. She needed to quench those little fantasies that were coming back to her – Chuck and she in her bed with that very chocolate, finding creative ways to melt it and even more creative ones to remove the molten remains from each other; he would no doubt make some heinous dirty jokes about either cherries or cake, and she would-

"Chew, chew, chew," she almost chanted loudly as she shoved a huge piece of cake into her mouth. She had to stop. That was never going to happen. Never. And she would never want it to happen. She hated the lying, cheating bastard. And what was it with those idiotic scenarios, anyway? She really did have an overactive imagination. Of a virgin who'd read one Harlequin Romance too many.

Finally, when all that remained on the tray was a pitiful handful of crumbs, she put her fork down. She climbed the stairs slowly, feeling like she was going to burst any moment. She knew there was only one remedy for this heavy weight pressing on her stomach. But she wouldn't do that. No. She

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wouldn't. She couldn't. She had sworn two years ago that she would never _ever _do that again. "But these are special circumstances," a little voice whispered inside her head.  
She paused in front of the bathroom door.  
"It could do you good."

Her fingertips brushed against the doorknob, and she shook her head violently. She would only hurt herself. And others had already taken care of tearing her to pieces. She had to put herself back together before she had to face them again, not to self-destruct.

Still, she didn't go into the bathroom, not even to brush her teeth and remove her makeup. She knew that the siren call of the white porcelain would have been impossible to resist if she saw the temptress too.

But that disgusting, eerily vivid dream had woken her up. Her stomach had still been hurting, and she obviously couldn't keep all that cake down any longer. So here she was now, kneeling beside that porcelain bowl, just like she had countless times before. She was that weak, needy girl again. The one who couldn't cope with anything. The one with a will so strong that she would force herself to be sick after every meal, but with a will so weak that she couldn't force herself to stop. She hated herself. It was like she had never stopped being that girl.

She was still letting people in, even though she knew she shouldn't. If her own family could betray her – if Daddy had been able to run off with that man and leave her behind, if Mother was still able to tell her she needed to eat light after all those sessions with Dr. Sherman... Why wouldn't Serena betray her? It wasn't like this was the first time. She had taken her place in the Neiman Marcus campaign a month before, for crying out loud... And he...

She had known from the start who he was – a guy who was with a different girl every night. And yet, she let herself fall for him, she let herself... _love _him. All because of a couple of smoldering looks and softly-spoken lies he had uttered innumerable times before. Because she wanted to believe that he could care for her as much as she cared about him. She wanted to believe that someone could love her, the way she was. That she could be perfect to someone, someone who was perfect to her, despite all his imperfections.

She had chosen to be blind. Lies, lies, lies, all lies, and she had chosen to believe in them. But not anymore. She had always known she had to be cold to be the queen. She was never going to forget that again. She was not going to be weak again, and her heart was not going to be trampled on again.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she went back to bed. She was calm, completely calm and empty.

When she woke up, it was afternoon.

"Dor-" she started yelling unceremoniously and unladylike, but then she remembered the maid had a day off. She smiled bitterly – she had told her not to come on Sunday. She had thought... that maybe...

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Chuck could stay all day. There was only one week of school left, but she would have wanted him to stay even if she had an enormous pile of homework. It would have been perfect, all of it...

She felt something salty on her lips again, and it _was _tears this time. Not a big surprise. Her whole body was aching. Why had they done that to her? The two people she loved... she had loved most. And they had betrayed her like that. Two and a half years. They had kept it from her for two and a half years. Or... Serena had kept it from her two and a half years. And Chuck... why hadn't he told her? She would have-

But she knew she wouldn't have, and she knew it not so deep down. She wouldn't have understood. How could she ever understand? She was "perfect," but Serena was still better than her, always had been, always would be. She was "perfect," and he had still wanted Serena first. Everybody wanted Serena. Serena was a _femme fatale_, and she was... mildly amusing, the Virgin Ice Queen, too skinny, little girl. No wonder everybody always wanted Serena – he, Nate...

She clutched at the neckline of her nightie. She felt like screaming. Not only because something was twisting her heart, making the pain physically unbearable. She had remembered what she almost did last night. She had almost... She had almost not let, but made a guy she barely knew fuck her. Not even thinking about... anything, possessed by the fever of revenge. God, what a sight she would have been this morning – Blair Waldorf sneaking into some dirty free clinic to get a morning-after pill and to get tested for STDs... She would have died of humiliation. All those dreams of a perfect night she would have ruined for good, just to hurt two people who wouldn't even care. Well, Serena maybe would care, because of Nate. But Chuck... Maybe a little, because of his ego. She would have truly hurt herself only. And even if she had been a pathetic fool, she didn't deserve that. He had already hurt her too much.

But she would still give anything for all this to be a nightmare, to wake up cuddled next to him. Even if he had slept with Serena, and she was never going to find out. She laughed at herself humorlessly. Was she really that hung-up on him? That desperate that she was willing to forget that what she hated most were secrets and lies, if she was the one kept in the dark?

"No," she said firmly.

As if that mattered... Every fiber in her being was screaming, "Yes!"

She sighed, sinking back into the mattress. Would she have even woken up cuddled next to him? Did he care enough to stay? No. That was the obvious answer. But that was not the answer her blood was humming as it traveled to and from the shards of her heart. He did... maybe. And maybe... maybe he hadn't told her because he cared. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. She was trying to make up excuses for him because she wanted to believe that the past three and a half months of her life hadn't been a big fat lie, she knew it. But maybe... She closed her eyes, willing herself to relive the beginning of last night, all those little moments that had been making her deliriously happy.

She truly was a masochist, she thought as another distorted smile flew across her lips. Or she just needed to find some order, some truth in all this madness, madness she'd helped create. She had told him lies – horrible, twisted lies. But he was supposed to know her. He should have known. And he should have made her tell him why... And if he loved her – she shivered, remembering the look in his

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eyes, which she had pegged as adoration, when he had said he had to tell her something – everything would have been fine. If they loved each other, everything could still be fine. If he apologized... Everybody wanted Serena anyway. It wasn't like he had ever _loved _the blonde. That had been sex, nothing more. Serena had slept with many guys, Chuck had slept with many girls. What had happened between the two of them wasn't important. Maybe he hadn't even remembered.

"But the two of us... that's different," she mumbled as she headed towards the bathroom. "He... He loves me," she said loudly, her chin jutting up.

And she could forgive him for something that had happened long, long before they met. But he would have to be on probation for a while.

A quick shower and primping session later, she was almost ready to go see him. Honestly, he should probably come to her after everything, but... she had done some awful things last night, too. Still, she really couldn't go to the Palace in that purple blouse. It was almost sheer. And when they made up... well, she wasn't ready to... sleep with him just yet. She had already been scared she wouldn't be good enough, and now that she knew what – or rather, who – he had done... If he really loved her, he would understand. Besides, it wasn't like he had known what she'd had planned for last night.

Having changed into a demure white turtleneck and one of her school skirts, she was just making the final few strokes with her hairbrush when the door flew open.

"Blair..."

"What are you doing here?" Were the blonde smarter, she would have realized she never wanted to see her again. "If you're here to apologize, don't bother," she said coolly, smoothing the frown off her face. "I have nothing else to say to you."

"Not even why you slept with Nate?" Serena challenged.

Her red-rimmed eyes seemed to be half pleading with her and half accusing her. Blair couldn't care less. After years of lying about her first time _and _about sleeping with the man she loved, Serena didn't exist for her anymore.

"Oh, so Penelope has told you?" she asked flippantly, slipping into a pair of Miu Miu flats. "She did always have a big mouth."

"It's on Gossip Girl." Serena's voice sounded as if it was going to break any moment. "Why, B?"

Blair paused in front of her former best friend on her way to the foyer and the elevator. "Only my friends call me B," she said. "And I just slept with your date like you slept with mine."

She shrugged her shoulders a little before she grabbed her phone and the closest bag and hurried down the stairs. Serena's stifled sob almost hurt, but just almost.

Once in a cab, she looked at her Blackberry for the first time since the previous evening. Her fingers trembled slightly as she half-hoped she would find something from Chuck. Hm, so much for her "being cold to be the queen." She smiled a little – she could still be cold to others. The smile soon

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disappeared, though, and she bit her lip with a bit more ardor than usual as she finished scrolling down the new messages. Well... it wasn't like she had been expecting anything, anyway. She opened Gossip Girl's blog, both to distract her frenzied mind and to see what Serena had been babbling about.

It finally hit her when she saw the headline. _Virgin Queen Not So Virgin Anymore_. But she truly felt nauseous when she read the subtitle. _B does it with N. Best friend and the girlfriend? Very classy. _

She dropped her phone into her bag absently and buried her face in her hands. She wasn't sure she was breathing. And it didn't matter. Had he seen it? She wanted to slap herself for being an idiot. Of course he had. And after what he had heard and seen at the Waldorf-Astoria... God! He had to be thinking she had slept with Nate. Of course he had. That was what she had wanted him to think. But not now. Not now... It was she who stifled a sob this time. Not now...

She forced herself to breathe. He would have to understand. He had to believe her. And Nate would tell the truth, too. He had no reason to lie... unless... he wanted to hurt Serena. She shook her head with vehemence, causing the driver to glance her way.

"Nonsense," she muttered under her breath. "Nate would not do that. And if he does, I'm going to kill him. I don't care that Serena is going to find out everything was a lie. And everyone else. Penelope is just so stupid and gullible, and I was messing with her; yes, that's it, that's the story for everyone else-"

"Miss?"

It seemed they had arrived to her destination some time ago. She threw the cabbie a fifty. "Keep the change."

As she entered the Palace lobby, she took a deep breath. That was supposed to be invigorating, but she felt more lost than ever. Quite literally. She had no idea how to get to the penthouse. Would Chuck even be there? Maybe she should try his suite. Not that she had any idea where his suite was. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something, of anything.

But the powers-that-be would have mercy on her today, or so it seemed.

"Blair," Bart Bass was striding straight towards her, something resembling a smile on his face, "it's so nice to see you."

She smiled. "You too, Mr. Bass."

"Are you here to see Charles?"

"As a matter of fact, I am." She smiled again.

"Well, come with me, then." He motioned for her to follow him, and she happily click-clacked half a step behind him. "I was just going to the penthouse."

But not alone. Blair frowned a little, trying to remember where she had last seen the man waiting in the private elevator.

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Bart Bass solved the puzzle instantly. "This is Klaus von Burg, my business associate." In other words, Lily's latest flavor-of-the-month.  
"Klaus," Bart continued, "this is Blair Waldorf, a family friend."  
"Nice to meet you." Blair smiled politely as she shook hands with Klaus.

"Klaus is joining us for a late lunch," Bart said. The flash of horror on her face must have been obvious because he added promptly, "And we would all be delighted if you joined us, too."

She blushed a little. The man obviously had no idea that she and Chuck... "Thank you, Mr. Bass, but I-"

"I will not take no for an answer," he said good-naturedly. And she was sure he wouldn't.

"I saw a picture," he changed the topic, as he had said what he had to say on the previous one, "of you and Charles in the newspaper today."

"Oh?" was all she managed as her eyes turned into saucers.

"From the debutante ball," Bart clarified. "_The New York Times _called you the debutante of the season. It was an honor for Charles to be escorting you."

"It was a pleasure having Chu- Charles as my escort."

Not sure what else to say, she offered him a little smile. Fortunately, the elevator came to a halt at almost the same moment, so she was saved.

Larissa, or whatever the maid's name was, left her in the library, to wait until she found "Mr. Chuck." Her nerves getting thinner with every passing second, Blair grabbed her phone from her purse. Just pushing the buttons randomly would be better than doing nothing.

She grimaced when she noticed her browser was still open, and still on the wretched Gossip Girl's post. She scrolled down. It wasn't a bad idea to find out what exactly Chuck thought he knew. She skimmed the not-so-witty text in which Gossip Girl thanked her sources for sending her the juiciest story of the month.

"Penelope, Hazel," she almost growled, "you're going t- Oh. My. God."

There were colorful little dots behind her eyelids. It hadn't been Penelope and Hazel, or at least it hadn't been just them. It had been Chuck. It had to be him. He had been the one who took that photo – she and Nate sitting on the floor, she glancing above his shoulder, with her lips spread into a tight smile.

"What are you doing here?"

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Her eyes flew open. "Why did you do this?"

He took a sip of his scotch, ignoring her. His eyes were devoid of any emotion, and the way he was casually leaning against a bookshelf was making her feel even more pathetic, with her trembling little voice and the tears she knew were glimmering in the corners of her eyes.

"Why did I do what?" he asked coolly. "Send the picture to Gossip Girl?" He shrugged. "You two make quite a couple. It would have been shame if that picture had gone to waste."

She shook her head a little, struggling to not let her lower lip wobble. "Nate and I-"

"Besides," he cut her off, "I don't think your minions are very fond of boyfriend-stealers, are they?"

They weren't. Even ex-boyfriends were off limits until special permission was granted.

She hadn't even thought about that, not today, and certainly not last night. But he had. And he had ruined her. On purpose.

"How could you do that?" She shivered and her voice was still weak, but it was getting stronger. He didn't love her. So she couldn't be weak in front of him.

He shrugged again. "As far as I know, my dear, you did it all by yourself. With a little help from dear Nathaniel, if he wasn't too baked."

He took another sip of his drink, his hand perfectly steady. That calmness of his, that utter lack of feelings of any sort for her – that hurt even more than his words, more than what he had done. It stung, viciously. She couldn't take it.

"How can you? Even after everything, I came-" she forced herself to stop. She was ridiculous with her little outburst, especially opposed to his complete disinterest.

They stood in silence for a while.  
Then she slowly turned around. There was obviously nothing left to be said between them.

He didn't think so, though. "I apologize for Nathaniel," he said, his voice still not betraying any hint of any emotion. "I know he doesn't perform well when he's under influence. But if you came here in that skirt to redo your first time, you might want to know that I don't want you anymore."

She tried to disregard the pain that shot through her and made a step towards the door. "I can't see why anyone else would, either, including Nathaniel."

It seemed that he wouldn't be quite done for some time. She didn't want to listen to that any longer, but she also didn't want him to rejoice in her storming off. So she stood in place.

"Now you're like one of the Arabians my father used to own," he drawled, "rode hard and put away wet."

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All the air was sucked out of her lungs.  
A whore. He was calling her a whore. When all she had ever done was love him, no one but him.

Against her own will, she looked at him over her shoulder. "What did I ever do to you?" she asked. This numbness that was spreading through her was at least keeping tears at bay.

"You slept with my best friend." His eyes were boring into hers, and there were finally feelings in them. She should have known. He wasn't capable of love. Just anger and something she couldn't put her finger on, but it was probably wounded pride. Not that it mattered anymore.

"You slept with mine," she whispered before she left the room, her spine ramrod straight and her lips pressed together.

Luckily, there was nobody in the foyer. She wouldn't know what to do if somebody saw her crying as she waited for the elevator to arrive.

But somebody obviously did see her, as a deceptively soft voice spoke behind her, "Be happy, darling."

Evelyn Bass had glided up to her from God knew where in her ghostlike manner. She put her dainty hand on Blair's shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

"Be happy," she repeated. "He's a Bass. It would only get worse."

Blair stared at her through the mist of her tears. She was too frozen, too embarrassed, too appalled to say anything.

Evelyn gave her a dazzling smile and nudged her into the waiting elevator.  
"Be grateful that he doesn't love you," she said as she disappeared from her sight.

Not that Blair would have been able to see her if the elevator doors hadn't closed. Everything was hazy still.

The eyes of the Blair that stepped into the Palace lobby, however, were dry. Tears were unacceptable. She had lost nothing. One can't lose what one has never had. And she had never had him. And he didn't exist for her anymore. But she still had a school to rule. She was the the Queen. They wouldn't dare disobey her.

Why were they late for lunch then? All but Little J, who had an enormous black bow perched on the top of her head. Blair would have said something, but words had failed her under-the-weather self when she had been faced with that monstrosity. She dipped the spoon into her yogurt, trembling lightly. It was getting too cold for lunch at the Met steps. She was almost tempted to go back to school, but she knew she had to wait for her disobedient minions to appear. She couldn't have them challenging her authority on the very first school day after everything.

"You're late," she barked out when Penelope and Hazel, the latter with a disgusting fur hat, finally

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appeared.

The older girl smirked, throwing her shiny black hair back a little. "I'm sorry, we were just debating whether we should be seen with a boyfriend-stealer." She made a show of looking around. "I guess the Siamese twins have been doing the same."

Blair was now grateful it was so cold. At least the cold made it impossible for all color to disappear from her face. "How dare you talk to me like this?"

"Don't delude yourself, _B_," Penelope spat out, "just because you happened to stumble upon the best piece of gossip last year and Rain saw it fit to make you the queen for it, although there were older and more suitable candidates, that doesn't mean we're going to obey you forever."

"Actually," Hazel chimed in, "I think you should consider yourself dethroned, Queen B." The two of them laughed in unison before they walked away.

Blair's heart was beating furiously, but her limbs were paralyzed. This couldn't be happening. She was not going to lose her crown. She had lied and schemed her way to it. She hadn't "stumbled" upon the juiciest gossip. She had worked for it, hard, just like she had worked for everything else. Nothing had ever fallen right into her lap. And she was not going to lose, not again.

"Blair..."

Little Jenny's voice was too soft to her liking. She had to satisfy herself with just glaring at her in response, though. She couldn't allow herself to be too feisty. Jenny Humphrey from Brooklyn seemed to be the only minion left, for now.

When she didn't say anything, Jenny tried again, more confidently this time. "Blair," she said, "I know what happened."

"What happened," Blair parroted, managing to keep her poker face on, "little Jenny Humphrey?"

Jenny looked down at her cheap suede boots for a moment. Then it seemed like she had finally made a decision, as she whipped her head up and looked Blair straight in the eye. "I know why you did it."

Blair arched her eyebrows royally, although her nerves were at their breaking point. What else would she have to endure?

"I know why you slept with Nate," Jenny elaborated. "My friend Vanessa, the one wearing animal print, caught you and Serena on tape. I know that Serena slept with Chuck."

"So what?" Blair asked, instead of screaming, "Don't ever say his name again!" "You're not a boyfriend-stealer."  
"I repeat: so what?"

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"You're someone who should always be taken seriously," Jenny continued, unruffled by Blair's apparent lack of interest in her story. "You always pay everyone back. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. And if you can do it to Serena, you can do it to anyone. Penelope and the rest of them should know that."

Blair gave her a stilted smile. "They already know that."  
"Why not remind them?" Jenny insisted. "Tip Gossip Girl? Send the video if necessary?"

Blair's eyes narrowed. Why exactly did this girl care so much whether she was going to lose her throne or not?

"What's in it for you, Little J?" she asked bluntly.

"I don't want Penelope to be the new queen," Jenny said, equally bluntly. "She hates me because of that idiot Anthony Avuldsen. I don't even like him, and she would banish me to social hell because of him."

Blair nodded. "Fair enough."

"And," Jenny added, still looking at her intently, "I want to be the most important person in this school after you."

Blair pursed her lips as she studied the girl silently. So, she wanted to be Minion Number One? And she was only a freshman. From Brooklyn. Little Jenny Humphrey suddenly didn't look so little anymore.

"Your friend will edit the video so that only Serena can be seen and only the final part can be heard."

It was all over Gossip Girl before school ended for the day. The comments were full of words like "slut" and "whore" again. Only this time they didn't refer to her but to Serena.

Kati and Iz on one side and Penelope and Hazel on the other flanked her as she was walking away from her locker.

"Serena is such a slut," Hazel hissed.

"Yeah, what a bitch!" Penelope offered in a somewhat strained voice.

Kati and Iz said, "You know we were always with you, B."

"Thank you, girls." Blair grinned, even though she didn't feel particularly victorious. In fact, she felt a bit sick. But it was okay – such was the life of a queen.

"Where are we going tonight to celebrate?" one of the minions asked.

"Actually," Blair said slowly, "I already made plans with Jenny for tonight. Dorota will plan something for Friday."

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They all nodded eagerly.  
"You may go now," she told them. "I'm going to the library before I go home."  
The girls obeyed, and she took a deep breath once they were gone. They truly were insufferable.

She was about to go brush her hair before she headed home when Serena popped in front of her. Her blonde hair was tangled, and she looked even worse than she had at her place yesterday. She looked like she hadn't slept since Saturday morning. Blair would have been sorry, if she hadn't almost lost everything because of her.

"You really had to make me look like a slut again, didn't you?" Serena asked, her weary voice underlined with anger.

Blair looked her up and down, raising her eyebrows as her eyes lingered on the other girl's indecently short skirt. "Oh honey," she said cloyingly, "it's not that you only _look _like a slut. But you manage to do it all by yourself anyway."

Then she walked away, not looking back. She was never going to think about the past again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Come as You Are **

_And I swear that I don't have a gun. _

The rest of the school week dragged on. Luckily, Chuck had jetted off to... somewhere. Hazel had been bold enough to pass that on. Not that she had known where he was. Not that Blair cared.

She was relieved when the break began and she didn't have to see her minions, and her former best friend daily. Luckily, she had only seen Nate once since Cotillion, and he had been quick to look away.

She distracted herself with Audrey and shopping. She didn't even care that all the shops were full of commoners on the prowl for Christmas deals. She would try dress after dress, examine ornament after ornament, paint her lips color after color. It all helped... for a few minutes. For, the knowledge that in one of her drawers was a neatly wrapped little package she was never able to escape fully. She still remembered how she had grinned like a little girl when she had first tucked it into the drawer to wait for Christmas. A small, leather-bound volume. _Complete Guide to Single Malt Scotch_. With _CBB _embossed in gold. Sure, it was barely a trinket compared to his birthday gift to her, but... she had simply known he was going to love it.

Only, he was never going to see it now.

The day before Christmas Eve, she was at Saks, wrinkling her nose at a bottle-blonde (with roots you could see from space) who was trying to get a price adjustment on a pair of Wolford stockings. How distasteful! It wasn't like she would be able to buy anything with that seven dollars and forty-five cents, anyway. Still, as bridge-and-tunnel as she was, complete with her enormous monogrammed _Coach _bag, the girl provided to Blair a more-than-welcome distraction from pair upon pair of red

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hosiery on her left. The very thought of wearing red made her nauseous these days. Well, the very thought of him made her nauseous. How could it not? He had called a whore. He had said he didn't want her. And she wanted nothing more than for him to appear in front of her – so that she could tell him just how much she despised him, from the very bottom of her heart.

She shook her head a little, shaking those thoughts off. She had promised herself she would leave her unfortunate past in the past. So she focused on the present, training her eyes on the Wolford-Coach girl again.

A toothy grin spreading across her face slowly, the girl folded up a piece of paper and threw it into her bag. Then she glanced around, as though she was looking for something, or someone. Her eyes softened. That sly glint that pervaded them while she had been talking with the sales assistant was replaced by another look Blair knew all too well. She had been seeing it in the mirror for months. She could only hope she had never had it in public. It was disgustingly sweet, and she was glad she had no reason to sport it anymore.

The girl opened her mouth to say something, but was silenced with a quick peck on the lips, courtesy of one of the most disgusting creatures Blair had ever seen. He obviously was a blend of an Occupy- Wall-Street Brooklyn hipster and something even worse. He wore way too tight skinny jeans splayed with last year's mud, unbelievably scuffed biker boots and the kind of jacket she had only seen when she caught Vietnam veterans' protest on TV that one time. Stringy hair of some mousy shade of brown fell untidily around his face and got into his eyes. Ugh. At times like these, Blair could not but wonder why department stores didn't have bouncers. It was just... impolite to walk around the city like _that _and lurk behind Valentino Resort 2012, scaring and repulsing innocent people who hadn't even suspected something similar existed.

She huffed in rightful indignation, but she promptly realized – and not without horror – that her huff had turned into a sigh of some sort. The guy's face when he looked at the blonde... That mixture of tenderness and awe made him almost... well, not cute, but bearable to look at. The girl's expression mirrored his. They kissed again, obviously having no clue that PDA was _not _sweet, and they walked away, holding hands.

Blair stomped her foot, as though that would help squash the tide of emotions rippling through her. She scurried in the opposite direction. It was so unfair. Everybody could be happy, except her. Those two had no idea how... _unattractive _they were, but they wouldn't care anyway. She knew she wouldn't, if she had someone to look at her like that. Earnestly, of course, and not like... the Basstard.

Resisting both the urge to stomp her foot again and the urge to cry – there were people around, after all – she picked up the closest, cobalt-blue dress. She tried to focus on the seams and the pleating, on anything really, just to not think about all the mushy couples she had seen that morning and this... envy-like feeling they ignited in her. It just wasn't fair. Why couldn't she have something like that? Was she really so unworthy of anything good, that all she would ever get was half a day and not a full hour at the ball? For all the effort she had invested in having soft skin, smooth hair and flat stomach, in always being the best-dressed and wearing appropriate makeup, in being well-informed and even better read... no one could love her still. She had less than half a family; she had no friends; she had no one to hold hands with.

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Was it all because she wasn't a good person? Because she loved outscheming and manipulating her neighbor more than helping him? In that case, the powers that be should have been grateful that she and... Chuck had found each other. They should have just left them be until... Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Until they self-destructed in one of their schemes, sort of just like they had.

Well, not that there had even ever been "them" to begin with. She twisted the wool in her hands absently. There had never been "them" officially, but she was... she had been so pathetic that there might have been. That hurt the most. She had been ready to forget about his romp with her best friend and about his not ever mentioning it. She had been ready to forgive him about Gossip Girl, too, if only he had apologized. It was frightening how low she had been prepared to stoop, just to keep him. And he... He had showed her how low his opinion of her had always been. He had wanted her because she was a virgin, not because she was Blair. Nobody loved Blair.

Maybe it was time to change, then. Maybe starting with that shockingly short dress she was holding. It was Serena's style... And Serena did have people who loved her, even though she screwed up all the time. She would always have Eric. And probably Georgina, who loved her in her own, psycho way. And Nate... Nate loved her, too. He loved her and she had thrown it all away. Blair could feel bile rising in her throat. Typical Serena. She'd had no idea how lucky she was, because everything had always fallen right into her lap. She'd prance around, spending her nights drinking with her amoral skanky friend, and the most perfect boy on the UES, by general consensus, would tell her he loved her. And Blair would all but crawl in front of the Basstard, and be called a whore to her face in return.

She forced herself to shrug, as if that would help her accept the truth. And the truth was that life would always play favorites. It had never been fair, and it would never be. The sooner she got over it once and for all, the better.

She handed the dress to an SA and headed towards the exit, glancing at her phone. One missed call from Daddy! She could feel the goofiest of smiles creep upon her face, but she couldn't care less if anybody saw her grinning idiotically like that. If no one else cared much about her, Daddy did. And she couldn't wait to see him! Thanksgiving had been so long ago... True, that awful, meddling Roman was coming, too, but he was the last person who could ruin her holiday.

Once on the street, she walked briskly, letting the holiday spirit envelop her. She enjoyed the cool wind on her face, and forgave it for messing with her white cloche. She wasn't even miffed when it started snowing, again. Rather, she smiled at the snowflakes swirling around the passers-by. An adorable little girl with blonde locks grinned at her, and she grinned back – the ultimate sign she was in a good mood.

She kept on grinning, until faced with the mother of all society smiles – the one of Anne Archibald, for whose charity she used to volunteer. And who, just as luck would have it, was accompanied by her only son.

"Blair!" Anne greeted her in her perfectly modulated voice. "It's so nice to see you. How are you doing?"

Blair offered her her own version of a society smile. "Great, thank you!" She was afraid once again that her face was going to crack from all the faux politeness. "How are you, Mrs. Archibald?"

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"Proud to have a son like this!" Anne gushed, which Blair thought was pretty uncharacteristic of her. Then again, if Anne Archibald – icier even than herself – had genuine feelings for anyone, she would have them for her son and her husband.

"You should be." Blair smiled again, wondering why the woman hadn't hired someone to carry all those bags or arranged for them to be delivered. As tall and muscular as he was, Nate seemed a bit overwhelmed, all in all some dozen shopping bags from different stores dangling from his hands.

"If you'll excuse us," Anne flashed her another smile, "I think I see Howard in front of Saks. He's taking us to lunch." A quick, "Happy Holidays, and give your mother my love!" later, she was all but running towards her husband.

Blair would have rolled her eyes if it weren't for that pesky pang tearing through her heart. She really should make it home before running into another happy couple. She made a step forward, but Nate and all his bags stood in her way, very deliberately.

"Blair..." He addressed her for the first time since Cotillion.

"Nate." She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She so wasn't looking forward to this conversation.

"Look," he glanced to his left, then to his right, his bags, his shoes, and then back at her, "about the ball..."

It took her some time to brace herself. Thankfully, Nate wasn't eager to talk, either. "Nothing happened," she managed at last.

Nate's face under his blond bangs scrunched up into a deep frown which would have made her giggle under any other circumstances. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm telling you that nothing happened between us," she said, having decided that – even if feigned – flippancy was the best way to go. "Some security guy was helping you vomit all the alcohol and the pills you had taken. I lied."

The frown deepened further. "What?" he asked, sounding impossibly like a little child. "Why?"

She looked down for a split second. How could she even begin to explain? When she looked at him again, she saw that anger had replaced confusion.

"My best friend doesn't want to see me or hear from me because of you," he spat out. "He even changed his phone number." He shook his head. "And you made everything up?"

The incredulity in his voice almost hurt. But he was just another person disappointed in her, disgusted with her. It didn't really matter.

"Blair," he started.

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But she cut him off promptly. "I had to," she said before she left him behind, his mind still reeling, no doubt. She truly had nothing else to tell him. She knew he wouldn't understand. And she didn't blame him. Right now, she couldn't believe she had done something that stupid, either.

She stepped onto the curb and raised her arm. Miraculously, a cab pulled up right away. She sank into the seat and stared at Fifth Avenue passing by, desperate to not think about anything or anyone.

"Early lunch ready, Miss Blair," Dorota told her as she walked out of the elevator. "Miss Eleanor waiting."

Blair handed her her coat. "Thank you, Dorota."

Now that Dorota mentioned food, she really was hungry. Walking, even if the better part of it was inside Saks, could be pretty tiring. She hurried to wash her hands and join her mother in the dining room.

"Finally," Eleanor said when she entered.  
Blair slid into her chair wordlessly, choosing to ignore the warm welcome.

"After what happened the last time you spent so much time in the cold, one would think you would be more careful."

As her mother grumbled and loaded her plate with pasta, Blair felt her heart melt just a little. She had been worried about her.

"I'm fine, Mother," she said reassuringly.

Eleanor just pursed her lips, as if to say, "But it could have been different." Then a shadow crossed her face, and she said, "Your father called." instead.

Blair grinned. "Yes, I have a missed call from him. If he cannot decide whether to buy me another gift or not, he should most certainly buy it," she chirped as she stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork.

Her mother's lips twitched. "I'm afraid he won't be able to make it this year." Blair's fork hit her plate.

"Roman is preparing for an important photo shoot two days after Christmas, and your father can't leave him," Eleanor explained, trying to suppress her rather obvious need to roll her eyes.

Then, for a long, long moment, all that could be heard was Blair's chair scraping against the floor. Eleanor scowled. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not hungry." It was almost funny how she usually sounded most confident when she was about to break.

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"Well," Eleanor said, "you have to eat. I'll have Dorota bring you something."

Blair just nodded numbly before she climbed into her room. She had had her doubts, but it was now certain that this was going to be worst holiday ever.

She hadn't been quite right, though. It was worse than she could have ever imagined. She had to spend Christmas Eve with _Cyrus Rose_, of all people.

She hated everything about the man, from his shiny bald head to the way he was constantly trying to add marshmallows (ugh! why did they even have those?) to her fat-free hot chocolate, to make her just as fat and gross as he was. She despised Cyrus Rose with all her being, almost as much as she despised _him_.

She threw her spoon into the half-empty mug. Was it going to be like this forever? Her treacherous brain always finding new ways to think about him, while he was God knew where, undoubtedly with company of the slutty kind. She closed her eyes. The mere thought of him with someone else still hurt physically. But that was just because her body still felt some vestige of attraction for him. She would never forgive him. And she would throw that necklace away tonight, for sure.

After all, she _had _almost done that in the morning. It had been barely past six o'clock, and she was standing beside an open window, looking down at the still dark street. She had already grown accustomed to the shivering that the morning air was eliciting from her body, clad into a flimsy chemise. She didn't mind it at all, actually; it was nice to have to focus on something outside her pounding head.

She reached for the strand of platinum and rubies which was staring at her cruelly from its velvet box. She ran her fingertips across the gems, closing her eyes. He was holding her hand, and kissing her hair, and saying things he didn't mean. She stifled a sob. She couldn't fathom that she had ever been that happy. How had it all got so messed up?

"Easily," she whispered to herself.

Everything had always been messed up between them, because he didn't love her. It was as simple as that.

And to prove she didn't care for him, or for _anything _that was in any shape or form associated with him, she was going to let the necklace he had given her slip into Fifth Avenue traffic. She outstretched her arm–

"Miss Blair!" Dorota screeched, and she almost let out a small chuckle, imagining that the maid would have certainly dropped her breakfast tray were she carrying one.

"What is it, Dorota?" she asked, faking normalcy as well as she could and trying to stop the shivering.

"Miss Blair!" Dorota puffed as she wrapped the duvet around her shoulders, ignoring her half-hearted protests. "You going to catch your death."

Blair bit her tongue. She didn't have enough strength for this left.

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"What are you doing here so early, Dorota?" she asked, letting the maid walk her to the bed and tuck her in.

"I come early to scrub the kitchen before Miss Eleanor wake up and I see you from the street standing at your window."

"That's ridiculous," Blair frowned weakly as she curled up under the duvet. (God, she really was cold!) "You couldn't have possibly seen me from the street. Don't lie to me or I'll make sure you spend the rest of your holidays in Poland and stay there forever," she threatened, though even she knew she wasn't convincing at all.

Dorota did tell the truth, however. "I come to check up on you every morning. I know you sometimes have nightmares. You worry me, Miss Blair, but I don't want to worry your mama."

Blair's face crumbled at the look of sheer concern at the woman's face. She didn't know whether she was glad that somebody cared, or whether she was mortified that Dorota knew how much it all hurt.

"I'm sorry, Dorota," she said. And she was, for making her worry that much just because she had been an idiot and had fallen for the wrong guy.

"No, I'm sorry, Miss Blair." Dorota shook her head. "I tell you nice things about Mr.-" "Don't," Blair barked out.

Dorota smiled a sad little smile. "You go to sleep, Miss Blair," she said as she patted her hair. "Everything better tomorrow."

Her eyes stopped at the necklace Blair was still holding. She reached for it tentatively. "You want me to take that?"

"No!" Blair gripped the necklace tighter.

"I'll put it back into the box. Later," she said more calmly, embarrassed at her strong reaction. Thankfully, Dorota at least knew when to keep her poker face on.

And when to leave. "You get some sleep, Miss Blair," she only added before she closed the door.

Forcing herself to finish her hot chocolate, Blair seethed when she remembered how she had woken up with the necklace tangled between her fingers. She slammed the empty mug on the table, but Mother didn't even reprimand her; she was too busy cooing with _Cyrus_.

Not that Blair wanted her to plague her with questions, but... couldn't Mother at least notice that she wasn't fine?... Then again, why should she care? Nobody else did. Her father was so busy gallivanting with his fifteen years younger model boyfriend in the south of France that he couldn't even come home, to see his only daughter, on Christmas. Her best friend, who – against her will – she missed terribly, wasn't her friend at all anymore. And the boy she loved... Well, he was probably with someone who he didn't consider a whore. Not thinking about her.

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So, if absolutely nobody cared... then obviously something was wrong with her, she mused. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She wondered if she should go up to her bedroom and then to her bathroom and maybe...

"Blair!"  
But the gnome somehow just wasn't going to leave her alone.

"That's not enough! Not enough!" He was more or less piercing her eardrums as he poured more hot chocolate into her mug. "You don't eat enough and I..."

She rolled her eyes as she tuned him out. God, she hated the guy. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? If nobody important cared, Cyrus freakin' Rose certainly didn't have to bother.

When her mother agreed to watch _Miracle on 34th Street_, she just threw her a look of disbelief and excused herself. She'd had enough Rose for one day. Well, for several decades, actually, but she would have to see him tomorrow. On Christmas. Her life was officially and completely unbearable.

In the morning, she didn't feel like dressing up for the holiday, or even like opening her presents, not with the midget hovering over her head. And she was not interested in learning what her mother and he had bought to each other. In fact, she wished it weren't Christmas at all.

Her foul mood did not improve when the sound of the elevator announced visitors.

"Serena, Eric," Eleanor was straining to be cordial, although you could see from a different galaxy how taken aback she was, "what a lovely surprise! Is Lily with you?"

"No, she's in Ibiza." Serena laughed nonchalantly. Even without looking at her, Blair could see her lips quivering slightly and her huge blue eyes sparkling with tears she was determined not to shed. It hadn't become easier in time, for any of them – Eric, Serena, or Blair.

"With Klaus."  
"We didn't feel like going," Eric supplemented.

"Smart choice!" Cyrus spoke up, as overly cheerful as ever. "What's Christmas without snow?" He laughed with unadulterated glee, and Blair almost liked him for a fleeting moment. "Come in, come in! Let me hug you!..."

Judging from a little gasp of surprise, Eric was the first victim of one of his signature bone-crushing hugs.

"Not enough!" Blair heard the midget exclaim as she strode upstairs. She had no intention whatsoever to spend the day with Serena, even if she wasn't all that angry anymore, _especially _because she wasn't all that angry anymore – after she had paid her back, all that remained was some sad mix of hurt and... remorse? And she didn't know what to do about it.

She was already in front of her room when Serena caught up with her. She turned around swiftly.

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"What are you doing here?" Her voice was as stern as she was able to make it. It was going to be easier if she acted like she hated her. She couldn't allow herself to break down again. And she couldn't be sorry. She had only done what she'd had to do. Serena had been asking for it when she hadn't told her...

Serena stammered, "I just... We had nowhere else to go."

Blair raised her eyebrows. Surely, Eric could have spent Christmas with his new boyfriend. Gossip Girl had told her as much.

"I had nowhere else to go," Serena amended. "I only have... I have always had only Eric and you, B."

It wasn't fair. She couldn't just widen those big eyes, say a couple of big words, and expect everything to be forgiven. Blair didn't want to forgive her. She couldn't forgive her for not telling her. "What about your good friend Georgina?" she asked. "You know, the one person who knows everything about you?"

Serena seemed to bit back a sigh. "You know that's not true."

But Blair wasn't interested in hearing any of it. She turned her back to the other girl and entered her bedroom.

"B..." Serena hesitated as Blair stood in front of her vanity, playing with her hairbrush.

"I haven't seen Georgina since Cotillion," she said finally. "She only texted once, to tell me she moved in with her grandparents, in Connecticut."

"The man upstairs may love me after all," Blair quipped.

A longest silence ensued. Blair would have thought that the blonde had left if she didn't know her better.

When Serena spoke up again, her voice held a certain note of resolution. "Blair, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about what happened," she said. "But that meant _nothing_."

She paused there before she choked out, "Just like you and Nate..."

Blair looked down as her eyes fell at the reflection of herself in the mirror. She knew too well how much it hurt to think about your best friend and... But it wasn't just that she had hurt Serena. She had done that intentionally. She had done everything in her power to ruin her and make her miserable. She truly was horrible. And here Serena was, heartbroken and apologizing.

"And Christmas is the season for forgiveness," Serena added gingerly.  
Blair bit her lip to stop the tears and made herself turn around. It was high time to face everything.

"Can _you _forgive _me_?" she asked quietly.  
The other girl took a tentative step forward. "We're sisters. And I broke his heart. And yours."

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"I didn't sleep with him, S." She couldn't keep on lying a second longer. "But-"

"I lied." She fought hard not to cry, forcing herself not to avert her eyes from Serena's frown. "I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt... Chuck."

"I'm sorry," she added breathlessly.  
"But Gossip Girl..." Serena stumbled over her own words. "Did you two plan that together?"

Blair buried her face into her hands for a moment. "Nate was so drunk and stoned that he doesn't even remember a thing. Or at least he didn't remember until I told him the truth on Friday." She plopped down on her bed. "Gossip Girl wouldn't believe him now, anyway."

Serena sat down beside her.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, B," she said after another pregnant pause. "It's just... It happened when you were in therapy for your," she threaded carefully, "condition. I thought you had more important things on your mind. And..."

"And?" Blair prompted.

Serena drew in a deep breath. "And I was ashamed. You always talked how you wanted your first time to be special and how that's one of the most important moments in a girl's life," she explained, not lifting her eyes from her hands. "And I... I lost my virginity because I felt like losing it that night. I was the only virgin left in that circle. I didn't even care who my first time was with. I wasn't in love with him. And he wasn't in love with me."

Blair wanted to hug her. Knowing that her friend was probably going to perceive the gesture as pity (and that that wouldn't be too far from the truth), she refrained.

"But he is in love with you." Serena looked up at last, but at the most inopportune moment. Blair was sure she had caught the pitiful expression she'd had after hearing about Chuck, her and love in the same sentence.

"He isn't." She shook her head, her lips forming a bitter little smile. "He just wanted to sleep with me."

Serena twisted and twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers for some time. Blair knew her well enough to know she was gathering courage to say something. Of course, she had been right.

As Serena's question was no less than, "Are you in love with him?" "No," Blair said forcefully.

Then she changed the topic. "Why didn't you tell me later? When I was..." She trailed off, not knowing what to say. 'When I was falling for him? When I was head-over-heels for him? When I was

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buying lingerie and planning to have his babies one day?' God, she had been... she was beyond pathetic!

"I thought it was just a harmless crush," Serena tried to explain herself. "When I realized it wasn't... I really wanted to tell you, B. But we were always at odds, for one reason or another... I didn't want you to hate me," she said earnestly.

Blair was silent for a couple of moments. It wasn't like Serena had been utterly wrong – she _had _thought she hated her at Cotillion, and afterwards...

"I could never hate you."  
Serena smiled a little.  
"Though I don't always show it," Blair admitted bashfully.  
Serena was full-on giggling then. "Yeah, I wonder what you would have done if you did hate me."

Blair smacked her on the arm, and she hugged her. No further apologies were needed. They both knew they had hurt each other, badly. Not due to lack of love, but due to lack of communication. And it was clear that trying to pretend they had never been and never would be friends would only add to their misery.

"Come on," Blair said, "let's go downstairs, to save Eric from that man..." she rolled her eyes, "Cyrus, and to open gifts."

Serena got up from the bed, not too enthusiastic. "Just so you know, as we had no idea what all you bought during your holiday splurge, you may already have something very similar."

Blair mock-glared at her and clucked. "Really, S, I would have expected something custom-made." "I did say 'similar.'" Serena shrugged.  
"Okay, you go now," Blair more or less shoved her to the door, "and I'll be there in a minute."

She proceeded to dig – beautifully wrapped, of course – a pair of Swarovski earrings and a first edition of _Leaves of Grass _from the bottom of her closet. It was good that she had bought Christmas gifts for the van der Woodsens over a month ago. At about the same time she had bought... She shook her head. She was going to give that to the doorman tomorrow. He did seem like he had taken up drinking lately...

Having finally found the box that contained Serena's new earrings, she all but ran downstairs. She did love gifts!...

"I did want to tell you at the dance studio," Serena said later, while they were sprawled across Blair's bed, eating petits fours and leafing through magazines. Eric had – for some uncanny reason – decided to stay in the living room and play some stupid game with Cyrus while Eleanor napped.

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"But Chuck begged me not to."

"Of course he did," Blair said, flipping a glossy page mechanically. "He couldn't risk his chances at bedding me."

Serena placed her hand on top of hers. "I would have told you if that had been the case."  
"What had been the case, then?" Her voice was too strangled for her to even try to fake disinterest. Serena waited until she looked at her. "He's in love with you."

Blair would have snorted if she did snorting, and if she didn't want it so desperately to be true. Not that it really mattered, not after what he had done and said to her. But there still was a part of her that wanted it to be true, reasons and reason aside.

"He knew you..." Serena hesitated briefly, "wouldn't take it well. And he didn't want to lose you because a one-night stand so far in the past neither of us really remembered it."

"He told you that?" Blair asked. Amazingly, her voice sounded more normal. "He did tell me he didn't want to lose you."

Of course. Predictably, he hadn't been able to say he was in love with her. Only, this time she didn't think it was because he hadn't been ready. It was because he hadn't been in love with her. He had only wanted sex. Though it was beyond her why anybody would be so desperate to sleep with a virgin, the massive ego trip aside...

Lifting her eyes from her friend's chipped pink manicure after some time, she noticed that said friend was still looking at her, as though she was expecting something... like her professing her eternal love for Chuck Bass or something equally stupid.

"Nate told you he loved you." She moved the ball to her court. She truly hadn't done that just to divert Serena's attention, however. That she and Nate weren't together, when it was so obvious that they were in love, was beyond sad.

It was Serena who looked down at her manicure this time.  
"Do you love him?" Blair asked when she didn't say anything for a couple of minutes.  
Still focused on her hands, Serena curled her lips into a little smile. "I'm not ready to love anyone."

Instead of trying to make it better with platitudes, Blair pushed the petits fours towards her best friend. Christmas wasn't the best of days to insist on talking about William van der Woodsen. He had left his wife and children just around this time of the year ten years ago, without a single word, shattering the seemingly perfect family and scarring his kids for life. Blair hated him for it.

Serena popped a sugar-glazed cookie and smiled. "So, Audrey marathon, as per usual?"

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At night, long after Holly and Paul had kissed in the rain and they turned the lights off and curled up under Blair's blue duvet – Serena never slept in the guest room – Blair whispered, "S, do you know... why his dad sent him to Switzerland?"

If the question had caught her off guard, Serena didn't show it. "No. But Carter might." Blair frowned in the dark. "As in Baizen?"

"Yes," Serena stifled a yawn. "He kept mentioning Switzerland in the Hamptons, as if he wanted to get a rise out of Chuck. Though he might have," yawn, "just been messing with him."

"Oh well," Blair murmured, her brain switching to top gear, "not that I even care."

All the response that came from Serena was a light snore. Blair rolled her eyes and adjusted her eye mask. She'd be better off following Serena's example, and _not _trying to figure out any Basstard-related stuff.

The New Year's Eve party at Anthony's was proving to be an utter failure. For her, at least. She had almost chucked her sparkly Judith Leiber clutch at giggling Penelope and Hazel during "Super Bass." Serena had disappeared for parts unknown, and with Little J's brother, of all people. (Who had invited him, anyway?) So she was standing all alone, in a mass of people she barely knew, when Anthony and Luke started screaming drunkenly, "Ten, nine, eight..."

They were at "four" when somebody took her by the hand, whispering (well, yelling, actually), "There you are."

She knew _that _was impossible. Besides, neither the touch nor the voice were right. Still, there was some fluttering feeling, something akin to hope, and she turned around–

"Jeremy," she deadpanned.

And before she could say something else, before she could pull her hand away, his lips crashed onto hers. She bit him, breaking the kiss instantly. He grimaced and touched his injured lip. He was looking at her like she was insane. That made her itch to slap him even more, but she didn't want to cause a scene. Even if the moron had tainted the new year for her. She hadn't wanted him to be her first kiss in 2012. Actually, she hadn't wanted him to kiss her at all! He had ruined everything. Happy 2012 to her! It had started great, in the vein of the end of 2011... She felt like crying. So she just walked away, before she could do anything stupid.

It was just past one when she came home. The penthouse seemed to be empty. Her mother still hadn't returned from the party she had gone to with Cyrus Rose. Obviously, they were having more fun tonight than she was.

She undressed quickly and hanged her beautiful new Alberta Ferretti coat with utmost care. She ran a hand over the silky fur. It was a gift from Daddy. Did he really not understand that a fifteen-thousand- dollar coat (and other gifts that came with it) couldn't replace seeing him, talking to him face-to-face? She sighed wearily.

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She removed her makeup, took a quick shower and brushed her hair. Mother still hadn't arrived. She slipped into a demure Oscar de la Renta chemise and under the covers.

Just as she was dozing off, her Blackberry started to wail annoyingly from the nightstand. She groped for it in the dark. She could only hope it wasn't Serena, asking her to come pick her up from Dumbo or something equally unacceptable.

It wasn't. It was an international number, and she didn't recognize the country code. Her heart did a crazy flip as waves of hot and cold hit her alternately. She just knew.

She pushed "answer," but she didn't say anything. He didn't say anything, either. Even though she had put him on speakerphone, she still couldn't hear anything. She was straining her ears, but she heard nothing, not even his breathing. Maybe he wasn't there at all. Maybe his phone somehow called her all by itself – that happened, a button hit inadvertently and voilà... Still, even if he hadn't called her, she needed to hear him now. Just a word, just... anything. She had been an idiot to think it would be easier if he wasn't near her. She couldn't quit him cold turkey...

He might have been reading her mind, because he did say something, finally. Just a word. Her name.

And she was sure she was hallucinating, as that simply wasn't possible. Yet, she could swear she had heard in that one syllable everything she felt when he crossed her mind – regret, yearning,... love?

He didn't say anything else. Why had he called anyway if he wasn't going to talk? She certainly wasn't going to say anything. She was too afraid of talking. God knew what she might say, as the thought she had been pushing away from her mind for the last few days was being more persistent than ever. What if he had done what he had to do to win? Like she had done – and it had seemed to have worked, at least with Serena. But, in the end, the truth was that she had lost. She had done everything she could to make Serena suffer, but in the end she suffered equally. What if... What if it was the same with him? Just, she had been Serena... Oh God, those couple of drinks were making her stupid... and meek? Or weak? Both?

Be as it may, she knew perfectly well that she was going to use those pitiful cocktails as an excuse the following morning when she whispered, "Just come home, Chuck."

That didn't mean she had forgiven him, oh no – though she sort of had. That didn't mean she would as much as talk to him when she was in New York. No, she wanted him in the city just... because. Besides, who could guarantee he had even heard her? He definitely didn't hurry to say something. And they were entering the second hour of their non-conversation...

When she checked her phone next, they had been non-talking for almost three hours. And yet he hadn't said an additional word. She hadn't either. But she was going to let the battery of her Blackberry run out, if need be. She was not going to be the one who gave up and hung up. She had to win... or something, she thought as sleep overtook her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Because the Night **

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_I believe it's time, too real to feel... _

As always, school started too soon. It really was cruel, not to mention completely unrealistic, of the teachers to expect anybody to pay attention. Half the girls were hungover, and all of them were absorbed in gossip about everything that had happened during the break, either in New York or wherever they had spent it. Notes and texts abounded in class.

Blair knew that, at the very least, half of them were about her and Serena and their on-again friendship, even though nobody had been brave enough to say anything to their faces. She didn't care much, anyway; there were too many other things to think about. For instance, how Little J thought she should be on the Valentine's Day committee although she was just a freshman, from Brooklyn. Or how she'd had to deal with not one but two sophomores wearing the same petrol-blue Jennifer Ouellette headband that she was (one of Eric's gifts!). Or maybe how she had caught a glimpse of Chuck Bass, coming to class only fifteen minutes late.

She reprimanded herself yet again for thinking about him. She had had no illusions that seeing him would be easy – that was why she'd been torn between hoping he would stay wherever the hell he'd spent the holidays and hoping he would be at school. But she hadn't expected _that_. She pressed the tip of her pencil to the paper sadistically. Who was he to instigate that? To make her stop breathing? Make her heartbeat reverberate through the empty hall for all the school to hear? She hated him. Those were the remnants of the physical attraction she used to feel for him, plain and simple. She shouldn't be in love with him after everything that had been said and done, and she wasn't. She wasn't. She just wanted to hate him.

"What?" she snapped rudely at lunch, her eyebrows shooting up.

Serena's pointed look didn't change a bit, though. "I'm just surprised you let your minions eat lunch alone, that's all," she whispered. "When the cat's away the mice will play."

"That I adjudged it would be better to deplete a single lunch intermission amidst the tranquility of the library," Blair said, not removing her eyes from her book and circling a C, "doesn't necessitate that Penelope is going to conduct a revolution. She knows better."

"And," she added as she read through the final practice question absent-mindedly, "I suggest you catch up with your SAT vocabulary, too, or you're never getting into an Ivy."

She lifted her face just in time to see Serena roll her eyes. "Anything you want to add before I switch to math?" she chirped.

Serena twirled a – unbrushed, or so it seemed – strand of her golden hair around her finger. "You can't avoid seeing him forever," she mumbled.

"I have no idea who you are referring to." Blair's eyebrows almost knitted together as her eyes narrowed. "If you could just remind me what _you _are doing in the library and not having lunch?"

A frown crossed Serena's face, but she looked down quickly and retrieved a shabby copy of _The Beautiful and Damned _from her Chloé. Satisfied that her friend had deciphered the meaning implied

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in her statement – that is, got the message – Blair returned to checking her answers, biting her lip in fury whenever they formed the C-B-B or only C-B pattern.

After school, all she had to do was to make sure to be surrounded by her minions – that loathsome Dan Humphrey had texted Serena and, for some reason that would forever remain a mystery to Blair, she had agreed to meet him. Kati, Iz and Jenny all had choir, though, and that despicable Hazel wasn't at school at all. Some minions! She would probably be better off without them. Today, and in general.

She didn't need them to distract her anyway, she thought as she walked away from her locker and buttoned her red Cynzia Rocca coat. First of all, she was not going to have that strong of a reaction at seeing the Basstard, definitely not again. Secondly, he was bound to be avoiding her too – if he had even an ounce of decency (though, truth be told, she wouldn't bet on that). Thirdly, he had probably skipped at least the last period and wouldn't be in the courtyard at all.

Wrong, on all accounts.

For, as soon as she stepped out of the school building, she saw him. Walking towards her. And her heart jumped and got trapped in her throat, suffocating her. How dared he?

"Blair," he averted his eyes quickly from the icy mask that was hiding her rightful outrage, "I need to talk to you."

She scrunched her nose up. Was he coming to school drunk now? Or had he somehow just got dipped into a barrel of scotch?

"Really?" she asked. She couldn't help it, not even if she knew that – drunk as he was – he was bound to make a scene, not even if it was obvious that the other students in the yard weren't even trying to hide their curiosity and their cell phones. "Have you found another charming simile to describe me?"

He disregarded the mockery that curled her lips into a venomous smile and the cold fire glimmering in her eyes. "You are perfect."

She inhaled sharply, the winter air piercing her lungs and making tears gather in the corners of her eyes. He was a sadist. But she wasn't a masochist, not anymore.

"This conversation is over," she half barked, half choked out as she walked past him.

His hand closed around her gloved fingers. "It will only take a minute."

"Please."

She tore her hand away, the heat of his touch that she felt even through the cashmere-lined leather making angry splotches on her cheeks. "Don't you ever touch me again," she warned him hotly.

"I won't," he promised. "I'm sorry."

"For what exactly?" she wanted to ask, furious at this mutiny of her body against her brain. But before she could as much as open her mouth, he went on.

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"That I didn't tell you. And that I told you some awful things," he said. He looked down at the tip of his shoe tracing patterns in the melting snow.

He couldn't even look at her while apologizing! Yet, she was grateful to the heavens and back that he couldn't. She was feeling her mask slipping, and she couldn't let him see how much she still...

"I just want you to know that I didn't mean them." He was looking at her now. And she wanted to turn her eyes away, because she was seeing things, or she had been seeing things – that look which her imagination had come to consider adoration was written all over his face, mixed with something that resembled pain.

"You are the only perfection I have ever encountered, no matter what happened."

His eyes were softer than his voice still, and she couldn't look away. Her heart was deadly quiet, but her mind was abuzz. He couldn't... She shouldn't...

"Is that all?" she breathed out. Maybe, just maybe, if he was finally able to tell her... then maybe she would consider falling in love all over again.

But his eyes were locked on his shoes again. Anger tinged with disappointment – or the other way around – washed over her. She should have known that only in fairytales could a boy's heart be thawed. So this little Gerda froze her heart in return.

"Good," she told him in her best bitchy voice as she strode away.  
She barely made it home when Gossip Girl informed her that _Virgin Or Not, Our Ice Queen Is Still _

_Icy_.

_Spotted: Chuck Bass drunk off his ass in the courtyard of Constance/St. Jude's, waiting for our very own Queen of Constance. My sources tell me that the brief conversation between the former almost- lovers was (in)tense. One of my lovely informants, who happened to have a front-row spot, swears that s/he heard Bass saying, "I'm sorry." Yes, darlings, I am gasping too! _

_The Queen didn't gasp, however. She went on her with business, like nothing happened at all. It seems she isn't sorry for sleeping with his (ex) best friend, who happened to be dating her (still?) best friend at the time. _B _does stand for _bitch_, huh? We love you nevertheless, B. _

_xoxo _

_Gossip Girl _

Blair threw her phone back into her bag and threw herself on her bed. The ceiling got blurry as she stopped struggling to keep tears at bay. She couldn't care less about Gossip Girl, about what any of her idiotic sources or readers thought about her. She just wished he hadn't apologized. He could have hated him in peace, or at least tried to. In time, she would have surely forgotten he'd ever existed in her life. But not now. Now she wanted it all, again. She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face into a pillow. She was sure her chest was going to explode. And she knew she was hopelessly stupid.

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By the time Dorota knocked and announced dinner was ready, she had pulled herself together, however. She had decided to do nothing. There was absolutely nothing she could do and keep her dignity intact, not after she had all but begged him to tell her it had all been for something. For, had he told her he was in love with her, it would have been. As it were, all that she had left was her dignity, which had to be preserved not only for the sake of her mental health, but for the sake of her crown, too. If her minions sensed weakness, they would be on it faster than sharks on blood. No, if he did love her, he would have to come to her. If not... she would follow her original plan and forget about him.

He seemed to be making it easy for her, as she didn't see him at school neither on Wednesday nor on Thursday. On Friday, she was getting irritated, mostly with herself. As it was the last day before the weekend – her better judgment out the window – she longed to see him. After all, she _had _already concluded it would be impossible to quit cold turkey. Therefore, it wasn't _completely _crazy and pathetic that the closer the end of the school day was, the more restless she grew.

Finally, just before the last period, he and Charlie Dern passed her and her posse in the lobby. His eyes fell on her for a fleeting moment before he turned back to his classmate. Her own breath choking her again, she looked down. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or to cry, but she was leaning towards weeping. The way his eyes had lit up and his lips quirked into a little smile when he saw her... He couldn't have feigned that... and why would he? Why couldn't he just tell her what she needed to hear, then? She shook her head almost imperceptibly. It really was hopeless, all of it.

Still, she spent the better portion of French mulling over everything. She could not even be bothered to roll her eyes once at Hazel's atrocious nasal vowels. As soon as the bell rang, she bolted from her chair and hurried home. An old-movie marathon and a Godiva or two were needed dearly.

No such luck, though. She was still rummaging through her DVD collection, trying to decide what to watch first, when Serena barged in.

"I need your help, B," she declared as solemnly as she was able to in her breathlessness. Then she collapsed on Blair's comforter in an excessively dramatic way.

Knowing her too well to be worried, Blair sighed a little. "What is it, S? You can't decide between Manolo and Jean-Michel?"

"Worse." Serena opened the box of chocolates she found on the nightstand and tucked into one. "Though I do need some fashion advice too, and fast."

Blair left the DVDs behind and sat down beside her. "Fast?" she arched her eyebrows, taking a chocolate herself. "I thought you were going to spend the night writing that English paper you got an extension on last year."

It was Serena's turn to sigh, and sigh she did, in a far more theatrical manner than Blair. "I know, I know," she covered her eyes for a moment, "but there's been a change of plan."

Blair let her eyebrows do the talking again.

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"I need you to fill me in on early Chabrol and approve my outfit for a hipster party." She covered her eyes again, but promptly jumped up and started to hit her friend on the back like a lunatic.

"Blair?" she panicked.  
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Blair managed between her quick gasps for air as she was choking on her Godiva.

A minute later, her breathing returning to its normal pace, she growled, "If I have bruises, I'm going to kill you."

Serena had the decency to look slightly ashamed for a handful of moments. "I was just trying to help," she murmured defensively, flipping her hair and popping another chocolate.

"Help?" Blair asked, her hand still on her heart. "You're the one who caused it! Chabrol? Hipster?"

She was staring at Serena with equal measures of annoyance and horror.

"Don't tell me you're going out with... _that_. Please!" she implored.

Serena's mouth formed a frown. "If by 'that' you mean Dan Humphrey," she said, twisting the end of a decorative pillow, "then yes, I am."

Blair facepalmed, very literally. "Why?" Her voice went up an octave. "That's social suicide, not to mention that he wouldn't know style if it hit him on that _lofty _head of his. And can he really utter an entire sentence in your presence? Last time I checked, even the sight of you was making him speechless!"

When she paused to breathe (just so that she could continue with her tirade), Serena swiftly offered, "He's not that bad. Yes, he is overly chatty when he's nervous, but that makes him cute." She ignored Blair's very exaggerated eye-roll. "And he's actually pretty smart and interesting."

Blair hesitated a little as she took her friend's hand, but it had to be said. "Is it really smart to be... jumping headfirst into a new relationship so soon–"

"Don't you dare." Serena jutted her chin forward. "I need this right now... It's fun; it's simple."

Blair wasn't convinced. Who would have been, with Serena's eyes planted firmly on the half-empty Godiva box and her lower lip wobbling? This didn't seem like the right time to question her decisions, however, so Blair contented herself with rubbing soothing little circles into her palm.

"Come," she said after a time, standing up, "you won't find anything hipster-like in my closet, thank God. We have to pay a visit to your room."

Serena smiled, but the smile seemed to contain a note of caution and Blair frowned in confusion.

Nothing became clearer when Serena announced, "You may want to grab something from your closet first."

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"As flattered as I am," Blair grimaced, "that you're inviting me to hang out with Humphrey, I'm afraid I'm otherwise engaged."

Serena traced patterns in the rug with her brown Pour La Victoire boot, and Blair felt just a little sick when that reminded her of the cowardly Basstard.

"It's just..." Serena said. "We're going to stop by the Palace first." She still wasn't looking at Blair. "There's a little party there, in Chuck's suite."

Blair shook her head slowly, several times. Was Serena... _mental_? "I don't follow," she bit out.

"It's just..." Serena stalled again, and Blair was about ready to shake her senseless, "I overheard Penelope and Hazel in the bathroom today after school. They said you almost looked like crying when he passed you in the lobby. And as you're not glaring at him or generally trying to make his life miserable after... you know... they think you're really hurt."

Her best friend was looking at her now, _very _questioningly, and Blair swallowed. Well, yes, newsflash: she was... she had been really hurt. But her lowly minions couldn't be allowed to perceive her weakness. Besides, she could stay just long enough for everybody to see her. And she might not see him at all. Oh, but maybe she might...

"Just give me a minute to grab some clothes."

A few hours later, she checked herself in the mirror as Serena brushed her hair at last. Her simple strapless black Hervé Léger was perfect to show them all that she wasn't some poor little thing moping around over Bass. No, she was sexy and confident. Then again, she wasn't feeling too daring, so she had thrown a short bright-red Kate Spade cardigan over it. A little pop of color _was _much needed; she wasn't one to wear all black.

Though she still looked pretty colorless next to the hipster Serena, who was now grinning beside her. Some of her chunky necklaces were so long that they almost reached the waistband of her super skinny jeans. Her haphazardly woven French braid was placed coquettishly over one bare shoulder – thankfully, somewhat hiding the blouse Lily had brought back from Ibiza. The psychedelic pattern was obnoxiously loud, and Blair couldn't but wonder on what mind-altering substance(s) Serena's mother had been when she bought it. Nevertheless, it obviously had come in handy, so she was sort of grateful that Lily had decided to revisit her wild-child, pre-marriage days.

Just as Blair applied an additional coat of mascara gingerly, Dan Humphrey stepped inside. Had she not been busy, Blair would have rolled her eyes... probably. The expression of unadulterated worship on the Brooklynite's face made her heart clench. She could only hope Serena wouldn't hurt him too bad, as in love with Nate as she undoubtedly was.

"You sicken me," she muttered grumpily as she threw the mascara back into Serena's gigantic beauty case – she would forever fail to see the point of Serena having all those things when she would barely remember to wear lip gloss on a daily basis.

"B-Blair." Humphrey's jaw hit the floor and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

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She rolled her eyes at him. Had she really not noticed she was standing there? "Yes, Humphrey," she noted dryly, "and the pleasure is all yours."

She picked up her clutch from the cocktail table, ignoring Serena's not-so-subtle scowl. Surely, she wasn't expecting her to become friends with him? "Let's go."

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Blair used to wonder sometimes, when reading those old Gossip Girls blasts, how Chuck had been allowed to be that loud in the middle of a hotel. It was unimaginable that the guests would appreciate all the music and all the drunk teenagers. Now she had her answer. The suite was obviously soundproof, as they hadn't heard anything until Humphrey opened the door with 1812 on it and stumbled inside awkwardly. Obviously, it wasn't only her first time tonight.

The living room was maybe quarter the size of the Basses' salon. It was almost completely devoid of furniture. There was a bar with rows and rows of glasses and bottles on one side of it, and then there was a dark chaise on the other. It was currently occupied by what seemed to be Charlie Dern and a raven-haired girl she vaguely remembered from Nightingale's debate team. The rest of the people who were sitting were on the floor, on big fluffy pillows. The only light was coming from a couple of lamps, covered with silk scarves of muted colors. All in all, the atmosphere would have been pretty dark – and almost disturbing, as nearly everyone was lip-locked, including Serena and (ew, again!) Humphrey – hadn't it been for the music. The music was ridiculous. It sounded like something not even Lily van der Woodsen would listen to, not to mention the cheesy lyrics.

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding, And all the lights that lead us there are blinding. There are many things that I  
Would like to say to you _

_But I don't know how... _

She huffed as she glared at the rather loud loudspeaker on her left.

"I know, right?" Luke handed her a flute as he creeped up to her. "We let Anthony play one song for her, and he had to choose this one."

"Her?" Blair frowned as she took a sip of her champagne.

Luke tilted his head towards the corner in which Anthony was quite obviously boring Little J to death. Penelope wouldn't be happy, she snickered.

"To tell her she's his wonderwall," Luke rambled on, "you know... that she's all he thinks about, all the time. Though, if you ask me–"

But he was interrupted by the last person Blair wanted to see.

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"I nee' t'talk w'th you," he slurred, his begging eyes doing their best to focus.

Blair wasn't impressed. "Jeremy." She nodded as Luke made a strategic retreat.

"I'm sorry 'bout the oth'r day."

He waved his hand, holding a full-to-the-brim glass of scotch, and she jumped back a little. If the idiot ruined her dress... At least Chuck was able to hold his liquor better.

"It's okay, Jeremy, I forgive you," she said magnanimously. His drunken face lit up. "Really?"

"Yes." She gave him a small, strained smile. "As long as you vanish into thin air, like... right now," she muttered under her breath.

But he just continued to stand there with a goofy-slash-creepy grin.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, before she disappeared. She had spotted a familiar figure.

No, it wasn't her very own wonderwall, but it was someone she had to say something to.

"Nate," she said as she glided in between him and some barely-dressed girl, "I didn't expect to see you here."

He took a swig of something that looked and smelled like beer. "I guess I could say the same about you." He smiled wryly.

"Look," she fumbled with her flute, "I never apologized for... everything. I _am _sorry. I don't know what got into me that night. And I wished it had worked out... for you and Serena."

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before he nodded. "It's okay, sort of. I shouldn't have put myself in such a situation. And I shouldn't have kissed you – I do remember that. I'm sorry, too."

Blair breathed out a sigh of relief. She'd had no idea Nate's forgiveness would mean this much to her.

"So, it's all fine now? Between you and... Chuck?"

"Sure." He chuckled darkly.

Blair flinched. She had never heard Nate's voice dripping with sarcasm like that. She couldn't even remember Nate being sarcastic, ever.

"But I thought..." she started weakly.

Nate shook his head. "He was avoiding me at school. He was never alone for a moment. So I had to come and try. He wasn't even here when I arrived. He's in his penthouse. Apparently, the party was too boring."

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"Oh." She felt her stomach plummet.

"I'm sorry, Nate." She patted him on the arm a little, clumsily, not knowing what else to do. "I'll tell him," she promised.

He just chugged his beer again.

Blair mingled a bit more, chatting idly with her classmates and seniors mostly. She wasn't interested in anything they had to say, though, and she was soon utterly exhausted. She found her coat and called the elevator.

As she waited, she tapped her foot and fidgeted. Why was it taking so long? Out of pure boredom, she checked her reflection in her compact. Her neutral – except for the black eyeliner – makeup was still holding up pretty well, and the champagne had given a hint of additional color to her cheeks. Just as she tossed the mirror into her purse again, the elevator opened in front of her.

Damn.

If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. Of course, the gambling face pro. Or he just didn't care. For her part, she just stood in spot. And itched to wring her hands.

"Going down?"  
The weariness of his voice snapping her back to reality, she nodded and stepped into the elevator.

As she glanced at him sideways, beneath her mascara-coated lashes, the words started pouring out on their own accord.

"I guess, since you apologized the other day, it's time I apologized, too," she said. "I'm sorry about Nate."

"Apology accepted." He was still staring in front of himself, eerily still. The question tumbled out. "Is that all?"  
He whirled to her.  
His voice was dangerously low. "What do you want, Blair?"

You. To look at me like that, always. She trembled more and more with every frantic beat of her heart. It was ridiculous; Blair Waldorf didn't let her body rule her.

And she wasn't starting to, she realized as she dropped her clutch. Her body, her mind, her soul, her heart, her whole being wanted it to happen. No matter where it lead to. At the very least, she would have her perfect first time, with someone she loved.

She let her heavy wool coat slip from her hands and onto the floor. She pressed her body into his, her hands clutching his jacket and his hair, her lips slamming against his. He responded with fervor,

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clasping his arms around her. God, was it possible that he was kissing even more divinely than she remembered? She felt herself melt against him. Her heart hammered wildly.

Even when he pulled away.  
She looked at him, her eyes wide but unyielding.

"Don't play games with me," he said as she reached for his face again. It wasn't a warning; it was a plea.

And then everything was spinning. Because he did love her.  
"I want you." She had never been more certain of anything in her entire life. "Now."

She shimmied out of her cardigan, and he let her push his jacket off his shoulders, their lips not parting the entire time. He was the one to break the kiss at last. He started pushing some buttons behind her. She tugged at the back of his shirt, but that wasn't enough. So she bit his earlobe lightly to show him how she felt about the lack of his attention. She thought she registered something weird happening with the elevator, but she didn't exactly feel like pondering on that. Not when he was paying his dues. His mouth played with the exposed part of her neck and she moaned in his ear. God, he really knew what he was doing... Her breathing was borderline embarrassing. Her body arched into his...

"Wait," he said, disentangling himself from her and backing towards the opposite end of the metal box.

Her blood rushed to her face. She should have known she would do something wrong. Her heart was beating equally fast, but it thumped with mortification now. She forced herself to look at a point above his shoulder.

"Blair," she felt his knuckles brush across her cheek, which was blood-red, she was certain, "there is video surveillance here."

She still couldn't look at him, but she felt him pull her closer. She knew she shouldn't just stand there like an idiot and be a limp mass in his arms. She should be seducing him. The problem was she had no idea how, not now. She was dying, of shame.

"I'm all for it, of course," he murmured in her ear and she felt that familiar hot shiver shoot through her spine, bringing her back to life, "but I figure you aren't."

"What if I am?" she whispered back, equally taken aback by the boldness of the words exiting her mouth and the sultry tone they were uttered in.

She felt his body tense for a moment, but then he chuckled and she was sure he saw right through her bravado.

"Too late now, darling," he said before dipping to kiss the hollow of her throat.

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Her eyes rolled back in her head as his lips touched her damp skin again, but she still had some rational thought left and she couldn't help but wonder what "too late" meant. That they weren't going to do it anymore? She almost panicked, thinking what all she should have done differently.

The nearly silent swoosh of the elevator door opening right into the foyer of the Basses' penthouse put an end to her doubts, however. Chuck picked their clothes up, only to dump them in front of the elevator. Then he took her hand and led her across the marble floor, making a beeline for the stairs and then opening the door to the second room on the left and flicking the light switch on.

From what Blair could see, there were books piled against the wall – the scarf she had once threatened to strangle him with thrown across them – and a half-open closet from which a jacket sleeve was peeking out. The nightstand lamp partially illuminated a tad creepy painting of a girl scout. This obviously was his room, and – for a long moment – all she could see was a king-sized bed with navy sheets, his bed, staring at her. It was mesmerizing, incredibly scary and unfathomably exciting at the same time. She paused on the threshold, clutching the skirt of her dress with her free hand, and he turned to look at her.

"I don't want to..." she almost croaked, studying his face as she spoke, but he remained impassive. "Not on the bed in which an army of whores has slept." She was looking at him firmly, as though daring him to question her.

He smiled a fleeting little smile instead, and in an instant she found herself pinned to him, his hand cupping her bottom.

"We don't have to... make love... on the bed," he drawled out before his lips traveled the length of her neck and back to her earlobe again. Blair felt the pooling between her legs get worse, or rather, better. She bit her lip. It was hardly normal for anybody's voice to have that effect on her body. "But I can assure you that no whore or non-whore has ever as much as sat on this bed."

Her mind was reeling, but she didn't have enough time to think about the possible implications of his words. He was already nipping at her collarbone, his hands feeling her. She closed her eyes, molding herself into him. His tongue flicked over her skin and she allowed herself to let out a small moan as her fingers dug deeper into his hair.

"Come here," he said, taking her hand and taking a step towards the bed. She faltered again.

"Can we," she choked out, feeling more embarrassed by the moment and feeling stains of red on her cheeks again, "turn the light off?" God, she hated being a blushing little virgin in front of him! She wasn't even sure he wanted her anymore. She was ruining the mood constantly.

"You," he tilted her chin upwards and she willed herself to look at him, "are gorgeous."

His eyes were dark and she couldn't quite read their expression, but it looked like desire. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was gorgeous and that made her stomach make a little somersault. She closed her eyes to savor the moment. He pressed a slow kiss onto her parted lips.

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After a moment, she heard him close the door and the lights went out.  
"Do you want to keep the lamp on?" he asked as his nose pressed into her hair.

"O-kay," she agreed meekly, feeling him pull her into him, her back to his chest. It now became obvious to her that he did want her and she tensed a little. But as he gently brushed her hair away and his mouth did all kinds of wondrous things that made her tremble with anticipation along the column of her neck, a grin crawled upon her face. Chuck wanted her. There was no doubt about it. That made her bolder.

"Unzip me," she whispered.

He obeyed. His lips left her shoulder only for a split second, when the zipper caught the black silk of her La Perlas. She kicked off her pumps and he helped her out of her bandeau dress, his hands tracing the curves of her body. He spun her around.

That was when she became acutely aware of the fact that he once again had the upper hand.

"Why are you still dressed?" she asked, masking her discomfort, which dissipated quickly as his eyes roamed her scantily-clad body with unconcealed admiration. She had never felt more attractive or less self-conscious than standing in the middle of Chuck Bass's bedroom in only her lingerie and thigh- highs. Who would have thought...

The corners of his mouth quirked up a bit. "I have no idea," he said but didn't make any effort to remove his hands from her hips and start undressing.

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, trying to undo his bow tie at the same time. She fiddled with the knot until she felt herself blush again. Was it ever going to stop?

He kissed her jaw. "Let me," he said, placing her hands on his chest and stroking her fingers slowly. "It's my signature knot." He smirked as he untied it and she undid his buttons.

He shrugged his shirt off and pulled her to him again, kissing her more hungrily this time. She responded eagerly, grabbing his neck to get him even closer and arching into him.

"Come to bed," he murmured, and she thought she would die right then and there. It was all too good, the way he made her feel.

The next thing she knew, she was sinking into the Egyptian-cotton sheets, with Chuck on top of her. It was all a blur of lip-biting from there. And his hands and his mouth everywhere, removing her remaining clothing and igniting new fires wherever they touched her. But when his thumb hooked into her panties, she stiffened a little, involuntarily.

"Want me to stop?"  
The words fell from her lips in a torrent. "I didn't sleep with him. I haven't slept with anyone." He was wordless and motionless long enough for her breathing to even.

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"Want me to stop?"

His bedroom voice floored her again.

"No," she whispered.

His fingers traced the seam, and she tensed a bit again, wondering about the embarrassing state of her underwear.

"You sure?" he rasped out.  
"Yes," she bit her lower lip, "yes."

He tugged on the La Perlas with a little more force than necessary and she heard a seam getting undone.

"They're... ruined... anyway," she said, amazed that she managed to produce more than one syllable. His smile fluttered against her thigh.

She yanked his hair animatedly, a little irritated, urging him not to lose focus. He did as commanded and she closed her eyes. Her sighs saturated the air as his expert hands and shameless mixture of gentle encouragements and plain dirty words peeled away all the residue of her reserve. She let her body do to his body whatever she pleased. She kissed him, bit him, licked him. God, she had no shame. And she didn't care. Especially as he returned the favors, and then some.

She enjoyed their little moans which melted and blended together. It was all perfect. It was all like she had always imagined it – pleasantly intense, tingling. Until his mouth found its way between her thighs again.

She was beginning to feel light-headed. And yet her entire body was pulsating with a need so desperate that she was in pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and chewed on her lip until she almost drew blood. All that was left was to try to focus on the sheets clenched in her fists. But she couldn't think about anything but the unbearable pleasure his teasing was provoking in her. It was out of this world, out of any world.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage like a crazy, imprisoned bird. Specks of every color of the rainbow danced in front of her eyes. Her whole body shivered, and embarrassment reappeared at the back of her mind for a flicker of a second. As her hips bucked, his fingers dug into her thighs, keeping her glued to him. In despair, she meowed his name, like a prayer, like a plea. God, she was going to die... Her mind had turned into mush. She was all senses and sensations. And all that pleasure hurt so much. She couldn't bear being on this brink of ecstasy any longer. She couldn't, she couldn't... No... Yes... A scream which might have been his name escaped her as something exploded in the pit of her stomach and spread through her restless body with lightning speed. With one last thrust, she fell down into the sheets. Some part of her brain registered they were wet. She would have cringed were she able to while floating above her own body. She was too content to move, too content to think.

He didn't seem to mind the sheets, though. "You are... amazing," he said breathlessly, between the wet

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kisses he was caressing her inner thighs with. "You're fucking amazing."

She still vibrated as he left a trail of kisses across her stomach, her breasts, her throat, until he finally reached her lips. He captured them in a hungry, hard kiss. She reciprocated, twisting his hair between her fingers as his tongue healed her bruised lip. He buried his face into the valley between her breasts for a handful of moments, his breath making her burn and turning her insides into a tangled mess again. Then he gave her another feverish, open-mouthed kiss as he fiddled with the nightstand drawer.

And they started to move together. They rocked against each other, their breath shorter with every little movement. She guessed she wasn't a virgin anymore. But there was no time to think about that.

She could feel that numbing pleasure was nearing again, and rapidly. It was no more than an inch away. And she wanted it, so, _oh so _bad. So she writhed, reaching blindly, but it was always just beyond her fingertips. It was excruciating. She begged, not sure for what, in her fever. God, it was so, so, so, so good! And _so _incredibly frustrating... Because now she knew this wasn't enough. She wanted that explosion behind her eyelids, that delicious trembling from head to toe. She wanted to not be able to breathe. And all that couldn't come fast enough. Her back arched again, but that still just wasn't it.

Not enough, not enough, not _nearly _enough...  
"Don't. Move," she heard him grind out. She didn't even care what she was doing wrong. She _had _to

move. She was so, so, oh so very close. Almost there. But he held her hips steady. "Please," he breathed out.

She whimpered in protest, jerking upwards out of sheer frustration, about ready to sink her teeth into his shoulder.

But then they were moving in sync again. Faster. Faster. Faster.

His face was inches away from hers, and on an impulse she reached and caught his lower lip between her teeth. She mauled his mouth between her gasps for air, which were coming closer and closer and closer to one another as their hips rubbed together wilder and wilder. Just as she mouthed the first syllable of her plea, his mouth covered hers completely. She couldn't breathe. He refused to let go, his lips molding to hers. And she thrashed beneath him like a woman possessed. Lack of oxygen or something else, her eyelids started to glow with fireworks. Her nails dug into his back so vehemently that she thought she felt him wince. She couldn't be sure, though. Her body was convulsing savagely again.

She couldn't take it a second longer. She bit his lip, hard, and threw her head back. The ceiling was sort of spinning above his head. There was a guttural cry, and she was vaguely aware that it was her own. She more felt than saw his unbelievably dark eyes boring into hers; it was all too, too hazy. Another little cry, and she was floating once more. Completely weightless. She wanted to weep, and she wanted to giggle, but all she could do was let pleasure spread through her whole body again and again, in ever so slightly subsiding waves.

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As her heart was about to begin its journey back its normal pace, his lips quivered and she heard his breath catch in his throat before he half gasped, half groaned her name. For a few moments, she felt his weight on her body. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt; nothing had hurt. Everything was... inconceivable, beyond anything she had ever felt. Her mind was still spinning when he collapsed next to her.

After an indeterminable amount of time, when she was finally able to move again, she angled herself towards him. He was on his side, looking at her. There was that adoration again. She grinned lazily. God, was she drained... He grinned back, still a little breathless. He put his arm across her back and pulled her to him. When she felt his lips on hers, she was already half-asleep. She managed to snuggle closer still, though. And the last thing she felt before she drifted off was a little kiss on her hair.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Don't Phunk With My Heart **

_I wonder, if I take you home, would you still be in love, baby? _

Even before she opened her eyes, Blair knew exactly where she was. She knew whose arm was draped across her stomach. So she just grinned giddily although she could feel her face flush a little when some images of what had transpired flashed through her mind. She stretched, her eyelids fluttering open at last. The room was almost pitch-black. Chuck, who she thought was gorgeous even if she could barely make out his features in the darkness, must have turned the lamp off earlier. That nearly negligible amount of light originated somewhere in the street and managed to sneak its way through the loosely closed curtains – a perk of living in the city that never sleeps.

She looked at Chuck a bit longer. Without knowing why, she was finding it utterly endearing that he was sleeping face-to-face with her. It was like the smallest thing he would do was enough to turn her to mush. God, she loved him... And he was incredibly handsome. And he knew how to make her feel all those wonderful, wonderful things. She sighed. If she continued thinking those thoughts, this heat that had started to simmer again would become unbearable. Then she would have to... well, wake Chuck up... which wasn't a bad idea, by any stretch of imagination. Because then he could... and she could... And then again. She bit her lip. Was it possible that she had morphed from a virgin into a nympho in less than a night? She shook her head. This wasn't a time for stupid questions. Besides, she seriously doubted Chuck would mind.

She raised her arm, but let it linger above his back. She was suddenly feeling a little bashful again. Not that there was a reason to get shy with Chuck after last... after this night. He had already seen and touched every inch of her, heard her moan and beg in a most unladylike fashion. He knew how she smelled when her sweat got mixed with J'adore and he knew how she tasted. And, for some odd reason, he'd seemed to like it all. Maybe for the same reason she liked everything about him, from his perfect lips to his not-that-chiseled body to his dirty words. She sighed again, enjoying the feel of his arm around her. Who could have guessed that such a crappy night could be not only salvaged, but turned into pure perfection? And she was about to make the almost-morning after even more perfect.

She ran her fingertips down his spine. He stirred, but only for a split second. She tried again. This time she didn't sigh in contentment. He didn't even move at her third attempt. More than mildly irritated, she decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. She sat up a little and lowered her lips to his ear.

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Then she jumped up so wildly that Chuck mumbled something completely unintelligible before he pulled her a bit closer.

"Yes, I understood that the first time," Bart Bass continued as the last... well, almost last anyway, ounce of lust ran away in front of a mini anxiety attack.

"But in case Monsieur Delacroix didn't know that, 11 AM in Paris..."

Oh God, was he going to enter? Of course he was! Why else would he be talking on the phone right in front of Chuck's room?

"...is 5 AM in New York."

What was she going to do? She tugged at her end of the duvet in rapid, frantic movements with all her strength, but Chuck wouldn't budge. Damn him for being a heavy sleeper! And damn him twice for sleeping _on _the duvet instead of under it like any normal person would!

"I already went out of my way when I agreed to talk to him at this hour."

She would have hit him had she not been afraid he would react audibly, thus speeding up his father's inevitable entrance. She pulled on the duvet once more, but to no avail. Oh God, she was going to die! Getting caught half-exposed with a no doubt completely exposed Chuck... by Bart Bass... She could see the steeliness mixed with amusement in his blue eyes already...

"I don't think Bass Industries will..."  
The man's voice grew quieter, presumably because he continued down the hall.

After quite a few moments, Blair allowed herself to let out a long, labored sigh. Then she slapped Chuck on the arm, albeit pretty gently.

"Stupid Basstard!" she muttered, shaking her head.

The truth was, though, that now the potentially dangerous distraction was gone, it was promptly forgotten. All she could think of was that myriad of deliciously bad things she wanted to do with him, here and definitely now. Suddenly, she found his lack of clothing for which she had loathed him minutes earlier very appealing... Clothes would just...

"Oh. My. God," she gasped out.

Surely, if Bart Bass was walking around the penthouse at this hour, he had been to the foyer too and seen the pile of clothes... mostly hers... there? Oh God... She doubted most Chuck's... _friends _– she shuddered at the word – carried a one-of-a-kind Judith Leiber. Then again, it wasn't very likely that Bart knew the difference. But what if that odious, crazy woman – she shuddered again – was around, too? And what if the maid took her things and put them God knew where?

Blair's jaw set. She had to go downstairs and gather her clothes. And be careful not to run into Bart Bass in the process...

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Well, actually, it would be smart to send Chuck to do that... if waking him up weren't such a mission impossible. As it were, she would be far quicker and far more efficient. So she lifted his arm gingerly, but he took hold of her waist again in no time.

"Chuck!" she all but whined, not as quietly as planned.

His eyes half-opened for a moment and he mumbled something that decidedly sounded like, "C'me 'ere, Blair." this time.

And, just like that, she was smiling like an idiot again. She shook her head at herself. Did she really find him adorable just because he could remember her name? Still, she bent to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Be right back," she whispered, wiggling out of his grasp, even though she had no illusions he was still somewhat awake.

She padded to his side of the bed, turned the lamp on and started the search. The dress was easy. It was only partially hidden by his shirt. She picked up both garments and pursed her lips. She wasn't particularly looking forward to zipping herself up. But if she put on his shirt instead... would that be too intimate? She seriously pondered on that for a second or two before she rolled her eyes. It wasn't exactly like they hadn't been _intimate _a couple of hours ago. Besides, she only needed his shirt for a few minutes.

As she worked on the buttons, she began to look for the rest of the stuff, namely, her underwear. At first, she would occasionally lose focus at a whiff of his cologne or the memory of her helping him out of that very shirt. She soon became all business, though, as she couldn't fathom how on Earth a pair of La Perlas could simply vanish into thin air. Sure, it wasn't like they were big or something, but still... They couldn't have just dematerialized. She was even pretty sure she had seen where they ended up when Chuck tossed them aside unceremoniously. Yet, she had searched the entire floor as meticulously as possible and nothing!

She nearly growled. She was wasting time, that little precious time she had before somebody found Chuck's and her discarded clothes and jumped to conclusions. Okay... before they reached the right conclusions. She buried her face in her hands for a moment. Surely, she couldn't go downstairs without her panties?

Frowning, she glanced at Chuck. Hopeless. He hadn't even moved since she'd thrown "her" end of the duvet over him at the beginning of this ordeal, and she couldn't waste any more time. She took a deep breath. At least his shirt was long enough to conceal her lack of other clothing.

The door closed behind her with a silent click. She ran down the stairs, the marble unpleasantly cold under her bare feet. Seeing all their clothes still in the same place as last night, she let out a deep sigh of relief. She strode across the foyer and grabbed her purse first. Then she wrapped herself into her coat in an attempt to feel less naked.

That turned out to be a major mistake, though. No sooner had she made a step forward, ready to scoop up her cardigan and Chuck's jacket, than she heard two pairs of steps approaching rapidly. There was

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no time to think anything through. She just ran again and opened the first door she spotted.

After she closed them as quietly as she was able to, she eyed the room with disdain. She usually loved libraries, but not this one. Although all had been forgiven, the words stung here, where they seemed to have been absorbed by the hand-painted walls and leather-bound volumes that relished throwing them at her again.

_Like one of the Arabians my father used to own. _

Her nails dug into the back of an armchair. It would be stupid to go back to that. They had been stupid. He had been angry.

"He loves me," she declared, jutting her chin out.

But there was no more time to argue with the empty room as, even through the thick wood, she could hear those steps again. She slid into a little chair secluded by both a massive oak shelf and a big plant of some sort, thanking the powers that be that Chuck's mother apparently was prone to wearing high heels before six in the morning.

The rhythmical click-clacking of heels against marble stopped soon enough, and Blair knew that Evelyn Bass had stepped onto the plush carpet of the library. She could only hope she would take whatever she came for and leave, real fast.

Bart Bass, however, had other plans.  
"Evelyn," he addressed her sternly.  
"For God's sake," Evelyn's tone was too sedate for her words, "will you stop following me around?"

"So, you think there's nothing to talk about?" Blair could tell from the timbre of his voice that he was struggling to keep his calm. "We find our son's – you do remember he is your son too, don't you? – and some girl's clothes in the middle of the foyer and you think there's nothing to talk about?"

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was that of rustling paper.

"Yes, I do." Evelyn closed a book with a snap. "It was a matter of time when he would start bringing them here. He's just like you: real estate, scotch and cheap women."

"If my wife would ever stoop so low as to talk with me for more than five seconds on any given day, maybe there would be no need for the last two things."

His wife scoffed at his resentment. "You knew I didn't love you."  
"And you knew he didn't love _you_."  
Blair heard liquid hitting glass.  
"He never has, nor he ever will," Bart Bass elaborated. "It's pathetic how you still chase him after all

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these years."  
"I am flying to Moscow," Evelyn told him flatly.

"Afraid that dear old Jack is going to return home with a young Russian bride?" Her husband snickered. "I don't blame you, Eve. Your beauty has started to fade."

Blair thought she registered a sharp intake of breath, but the woman was perfectly calm when she spoke up again.

"Too bad it hasn't faded enough to keep you at bay."

"You can go to Moscow all you want. You'll be alone with that copy of _East of Eden _day and night, and you deserve it," he said, no doubt to her back, as the sound of her heels was audible again. "He only still tolerates you because he hates me."

Trembling lightly, Blair dared to peek from her hiding place. The man was pouring another scotch. "Yes, Eve, your beauty has started to fade," he repeated.

For a handful of moments, she thought he was going to smash the glass into the nearest wall. But then he polished off his drink and returned the glass to its place with a little thud. Relief flooded her when he finally left.

She sat still for a while longer, her mind racing. Cheating spouses and bitter marriages of convenience were not uncommon on the Upper East Side, but if Chuck's mother had been seeing... Chuck's Uncle Jack, for years... that was plain crazy... Not that she cared much about that; that had nothing to do with her. She only cared about Chuck, unlike that self-absorbed bitch who couldn't spare a minute to talk about him. For all Eleanor's faults, she knew she did love her. She couldn't imagine what living... what growing up with the Snow Queen was like. All she wanted was to run back to his room and hold him and tell him he would always, always have her, at least as a friend. She wasn't as stupid to think that she could erase years of pain, but she could make it better. Because she loved him.

When she did sneak upstairs and into his room, rays of the cold, winter-morning sun were blending with those coming from the lamp, but Chuck was still in exactly the same position. She shook her head a little, incredulously, and smiled at his peaceful, boyish expression. Maybe she had been overreacting. Sure, his mother was a royal bitch, but he'd turned out just fine...

Well, almost.

Her eyebrows shot up and her lips puckered before they curled into another smile. There was a piece of shiny black fabric peeking from under his pillow. Her silk La Perlas, without a shred of doubt. But when? She laughed quietly, shaking her head again. So, now he was a panties-stealer? It was kind of cute, in a pervy way. Then again, so was he. And she wouldn't change him for the world.

She took her coat off, ready to go back to bed and once again ready for Chuck to wake up and maybe... The wild dance of her clutch in her coat pocket got her mind out of the gutter swiftly, though, and she wasn't particularly grateful for that. She pulled out her annoying phone, intent on

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shutting it up, but her resolve dissipated in a fraction of a second as she saw the caller's ID.

_Home _

That meant one thing and one thing only: Eleanor had returned from Paris earlier than planned and was pissed, and she wanted her to know that.

Why exactly she was pissed, however, Blair didn't know. She should have just supposed her daughter was at Serena's or maybe Kati's. Another burning question was how she'd noticed her absence even before breakfast time.

She had no time to find a plausible answer, though, as the indicator flashed red with a new text message.

_Where are you? And think well before you answer. I have talked to Lily. _

Blair felt her eyes bug. She'd called Lily? At six? That was a whole new level of crazy, even for Mother... As the thought sank in slowly, her eyes narrowed on the screen of her Blackberry. Of course! This was all that vermin's doing! The idiot of Cyrus Rose must have picked her mother up and then made her check up on her as soon as she entered the apartment because that was certainly something he would do, the fat, bald Care Bear that he was... Her fingers itched to close around his neck in a deadly grip.

She knew better than to enrage her mother further, however, so she typed up a quick reply, her hands slightly colder than she would have liked.

_At a party, didn't notice the time. Be right there. _

She dug the tissues and the compact out of her purse. Her eyeliner was still in place – thank God for Cle de Peau! – so she just blotted her nose and her forehead a little and applied a thin coat of powder in a couple of quick moves. She had to appear at least semi-presentable, even if applying new makeup on top of last night's was completely gross. She knew Mother would chastise her more for that than for having sex with Chuck Bass. Still, as she combed her fingers through her tangled locks, she hoped her sex hair would pass for it-was-a-really-good-party hair.

She unbuttoned Chuck's shirt and placed it across the back of a chair. She looked at it and then at Chuck, wistfully. Her perfect morning after, _their _morning after was ruined by so many things that it wasn't even funny. She zipped her dress up as well as she could and slipped into her shoes. Chuck was still fast asleep, with her panties under his pillow. No lie, it was going to be strange, to say the least, to go home without them, but they were in a deplorable condition anyway. She wasn't exactly sad she was leaving them. As for Chuck... Her heart clenched a little. They had barely talked last night. Unless you counted... She rolled her eyes at her own dirty mind again. In all seriousness, they did need to talk. She needed him to finally tell her.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself, "or... today."  
In the meantime, was she supposed to leave him a note or something? They did that in movies. Then

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again, the note was usually some random heartbreaking nonsense. She was just going home because her mother had decided to play house. Although... maybe she shouldn't just leave. Maybe she should text him or something... But what would she say? "Thank you; that was the best sex of my life. Even if it was the only sex of my life"? "I love you. Call me"? She shook her head slowly. No, if he loved her – and he did – he would call her. He had to know how she felt. He knew sex wasn't a game to her.

So she just placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek, buttoned her coat up and exited quietly.

When the elevator finally started going down, she collapsed onto the bench, releasing the breath she had been holding in fear of a chance meeting with Chuck's father or anyone else. Just as she relaxed as much as she could under the circumstances, the door opened. She frowned a little – the ride was shorter than she had expected it to be; she still didn't feel like getting up. Then she realized she had chosen "10" instead of "1." So stupid...

She got up grudgingly and pushed the right number. Before the door closed again, though, a threesome tumbled out of a room. The bottle blondes with freakishly long legs and distastefully sheer tops looked like they were twins and the guy looked like... Carter Baizen. Instinctively, she took a step back. Too late. She saw the spark of recognition light up in his eyes.

"Damn," she muttered as she sat down again, lack of sleep catching up with her.

True, it wasn't exactly fortunate that she had run into a familiar face in this hotel, at this hour. On the other hand, who would believe anything Carter Baizen said? Especially without any proof? And if she and Chuck now were... Well, that would be one reason less to care about gossip. Therefore, she only shrugged lazily.

The concierge found her a cab. She sank into the seat, trying to disregard how (un)sanitary that was. After all, she wasn't Blair, girl who had to go home when her mother told her to, right now. No, now she was Blair, girl who had fled from the love of her life because... well... it had to be something big... maybe like some sort of a promise she'd had to make for a villain not to harm him. Yes, Evelyn would make a perfect villain, cold and a bit... unstable, let's say. Anyway, she was now going to her place to pack her things and vanish from his life forever. Only, he would know exactly where to find her. He would tell her that his life was meaningless to him if she wasn't in it. She would protest a bit more, because that was just how it went in all her movies. And then they would make love in all the rooms of that chateau she bought while trying to hide from him. Yes, for some reason, when she was a girl she always thought her prince would take her to a castle in Tuscany or... the south of France. Because, who didn't love Côte d'Azur? Maybe... But she would feel way too silly asking Chuck to pretend. And it was way too early for them to actually go there. Well, for him at least... probably. Still, perhaps...

"Miss?"  
She scowled at the cabbie. Okay, she hadn't noticed when the car stopped, so what? "Are you okay, Miss?"  
"I'm perfect, thank you," she chirped and gave him a fifty. Indeed, she was perfect.

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Not for long, though. She knew better than to flaunt her Chuck-fantasies-induced grin in front of her cross-armed mother, but simply looking apologetic didn't seem to cut it with Eleanor this time.

"I was dying of worry, Blair," her mother said in her most serious voice. "I called you three times and you weren't answering."

"The music was loud," she said, more defiantly than intended. The fact that the Cyrus guy was standing next to her mother like he was... her father or something was ticking her off.

"You shouldn't have been at a party at that time in the first place."  
"You didn't seem to mind _before_," Blair spat out. "And you wouldn't have lost your beauty sleep if it

hadn't been for _him_."  
Eleanor chose to ignore the look of distilled despisal that she cast at the little man. "Who was

throwing the party?"

"Chuck Bass." Blair didn't know why her chin flew up a bit as she answered.

"Chuck Bass?" Her mother's eyes turned into slits.

Blair's eyebrows shot up in a silent challenge.

"You might take me for a fool, Blair, but I am not one," Eleanor said, and Blair was fighting hard to restrain her tongue while Cyrus's bald head bobbed behind her mother's shoulder.

"I don't know what exactly happened between the two of you before and at your debutante ball, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to keep seeing him."

"Really? Because I think that's the best idea I've ever had," Blair wanted to say.

She settled for, "I'm going to be seeing whoever I want to." as she walked past her mother and her manipulative lap dog and onto the first step. "You certainly are."

She was satisfied that her mother managed just a quick "This conversation is _not _over, Blair." before she was already in her room. She needed a shower and some sleep, not stupid, pointless conversations, before she started to deal with her chem homework and before... she saw Chuck again.

Her eyes had barely flown open that afternoon when her hand landed on her phone. Five new texts, eleven emails. One more stupid and insignificant than another. She less than half-heartedly commiserated with Kati, whose little brother had ruined her new Lanvin with watercolors, and told Penelope she would stay at home. It wasn't like she ever looked forward to talking, let alone going out with the queen of wannabes and her personal minion, Homely Hazel, anyway. As for Serena... she wasn't answering her phone. Surely, she wasn't miffed because she'd sent, _He didn't have enough money for a cab. 8-) _in reply to her, no doubt drunken, _Omg b he totally walked me home! Hes 2 sweet_? She had to be sleeping her hangover off, and Blair would let her do that in peace. She had more than enough stuff of her own to attend to.

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But even after her homework was all done – and that had taken more than a while, as her thoughts would wander off every ten seconds – he still hadn't called. Of course, that meant nothing. His battery could be dead. Or his father could have dragged him somewhere on short notice. Or Nate had stopped by, which would be really great, apart from the weed part, which inevitably came with the blond and maybe made him a bit forgetful. He would surely call by midnight.

By one, she had taken an almost hour-long bath, spent an extra five minutes exfoliating and moisturizing, brushed her hair three times, and stopped making excuses for him. She now knew for certain that she had been stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have known that following her heart instead of her head wouldn't bring her any good. She should have learned her lesson long before her deb ball. She kept on falling for the same thing over and over again... And there was no point in crying, so she would stop. She needed just another minute.

By two thirty, she was completely calm. She had lost her virginity. It had been good. That was all. She had had no dreams of happily ever after when she kissed him on Friday night. She had done what she had wanted to. That was all. So, they had both got what they wanted and now was the time to move on. Starting from today. Maybe she should give Theodore a call. Or Jeremy.

By three, she had called Serena twice more. And started crying again only once. She just... she couldn't understand how it could have meant the world to her and nothing to him. He had been so gentle, so caring with her and... It wasn't like she had been expecting him to proclaim his eternal love for her... much. But not even a text? Then again, she should have been prepared, after all the horror stories and cautionary tales she had heard. How could she have known, though, that anyone would be willing to go through that much trouble for... nothing? For a night with a girl who didn't even know what to do... It didn't make sense. Unless... having sex with the Virgin Queen had been a dare or his own personal challenge of sorts. She thought she was going to be sick. Even Mother could see the truth. She muffled a sob with a pillow.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepy head!"  
"Ugh..." Blair mumbled before turning to whichever side the noise wasn't coming from. "I've got your favorite cornetti here," Serena cajoled in her sweetest voice.

"No." Blair turned to her stomach and buried her head into the pillow. She was tired. And sleep was good. She hadn't even dreamed of anything, or anyone. That was good. That was refreshing, to not think about a thing.

She heard the curtains open.  
"Is this why I waited at Sant Ambroeus?" Serena mock-whined.  
"You never wait," Blair muttered grumpily. "That guy's in love with you."

"Mike wasn't there this morning." Serena laughed and the mattress sank a little as she threw herself onto the bed.

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She waved the bag with the pastry under Blair's nose. "They're with honey, sweetie!" she basically sang.

Blair kept her eye mask on stubbornly. Her stomach wasn't that stubborn, though, or that masochistic, so Serena cackled with glee at the rumbling, completely undignified, sound it made.

"You know you want them," she taunted, still in that singing voice.

At last, Blair deigned to remove her mask, just so that she could glare at her. And so that she could pick the biggest cornetto of them all.

Serena responded with one of her dazzling smiles and, "Audrey?"

Half _Breakfast at Tiffany's _and too many cornetti later, Blair was feeling sick, disgusted with herself and ready to cry. She wasn't quite ready, however, to share any of that with Serena, who had been eyeing her like a hawk ever since she hadn't cooed, "I'm _crazy _about Tiffany's!" in sync with Audrey. Thus, she smiled to the best of her current ability.

"So, you still haven't told me where you were yesterday. Not with Lowly Boy, I hope?"

"Hey!" Serena smacked her on the head with one of the decorative pillows. "It's _Lonely _Boy!"

Blair made her most innocent face. "Oops, my bad!"

"Though I still can't understand why you feel you should be the one to make him un-lonely," she added.

Serena sighed. "I think he may be one of the good guys..."

"Yeah, whatever," Blair ended that conversation, rolling her eyes. Honestly, who was her friend trying to fool? Not even she herself sounded too convinced.

Unfortunately, what Blair had failed to realize just until it was too late was that, by dropping the thrilling topic of Dan Humphrey, she foolishly gave Serena the opportunity to ask all the wrong things.

To her credit, Serena did seem a bit cautious when she asked, looking at Blair through her lowered lashes, "Well... what about you? What did you think of the party?"

"I left," Blair felt her throat tighten, "as soon as Jeremy apologized to me and I apologized to Nate."

A shadow crossed Serena's face, but the thought of her ex-beau – regrettably – was not enough to discourage her from posing more questions.

"Did you, by any chance, run into... Chuck?"  
Blair took a deep breath. Some things were meant to be just done with and gotten over.

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"As a matter of fact, I did," she said. "I started taking his clothes off while we were still in the elevator. Then we went to his room and had sex."

It took Serena a while to stop giggling. Personally, Blair was more than mildly offended. Nothing she had said was _that _out there, right?

"Come on, spill it," the blonde demanded as she caught her breath.

"I thought I just did."

Serena let out something that was half a snort and half a giggle. "You didn-"

When it hit her, the look on her face was as priceless as ever, Blair concluded, satisfied. No one gaped quite as amusingly as her best friend.

"Oh my God, B!" Serena squealed, grabbing her hands and bouncing off the mattress like a four-year-old in that annoyingly adorable way of hers. "You have to tell me _everything_!"

Lots of glossing over later, Serena was shaking her head. Blair dried her eyes as inconspicuously as possible. She wasn't even angry at herself for tearing up again. She was just... so utterly miserable.

In fact, her current state was obviously even dulling her perception, as it took a good few moments to realize that Serena wasn't trying to comfort her.

"Are you done?" she asked when Blair looked up at her from her pillow.  
Blair just sniffled in response.  
"I can't decide," Serena declared solemnly, "which of you two is more stupid than the other." Blair opened her mouth, but she held a hand up. "No arguing!"

As soon as Blair opened her mouth once more, she raised her voice a little. "He for not calling you, because he really ought to know better by now. Or you, for leaving in the middle of the night, without a word, after you initiated everything."

It was definitely Blair's turn to gape.  
"Are you trying to say this is all _my _fault?" Her voice wasn't trembling with _tears _now.

Serena chewed on her glossed lip for a moment. "Look, B," she reached for Blair's hand and refused to let go when the other girl tried to pull away, "you both already played games last December and you both got burned. What happened on Friday... you started it. He asked you to stop playing and then you were gone when he woke up. What do you think that looks like from his perspective?"

Suddenly, the way in which light fell on her duvet seemed to become a matter of utmost importance to Blair. After Serena squeezed her hand for a billionth time, she managed to look up at last.

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"Technically, it was morning already." She offered her friend a bit watery smile. "And he's a _very _heavy sleeper."

"Seriously, a freight train wouldn't wake him up." She shrugged. "It's crazy!" Her first genuine laugh of the morning was accompanied by an eye-roll, but both of them knew that was just for show.

"Worse than Eric?" Serena grinned.

"You have no-" Blair cut herself off as the not-so-little green monster stabbed her.

"Then again, you probably do," she finished dryly.

"B..." Serena's smile was the saddest she had seen in a while. "He and I... It was nothing like that."

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered. She hadn't meant to be mean to her best friend; she really hadn't. But the thought of Chuck...

Serena shook her head. "Don't be. I made that decision for myself."

"I love you, S," Blair said earnestly as she hugged her.

"I love you too, B."

They stayed like that – like when they had been little girls who would fight and make up every half an hour – until another person who loved someone chimed in.

_Your love's got me lookin' so crazy right now, Got me lookin' so crazy right now;  
Your touch's got me lookin' so crazy right- _

Blair looked at Serena looking down at her silenced phone sheepishly and... longingly? Did Dan Humphrey possess some charms that only the chosen ones got to see? Ew, she _really _didn't want to know. But she had to know just how serious this thing between him and Serena was.

"So, Bee is for Brooklyn, huh?" she asked in her best casual tone.  
Serena's head bowed down almost imperceptibly. "I lost a bet and Nate got to pick his ring tone." Blair squeezed her free hand.  
"I never got around to changing it."  
Blair felt like crying again, this time at how strangled her friend sounded.  
"Why don't you call him?" she suggested tenderly.  
There was too long a pause before Serena announced, "I have a boyfriend now."  
Knowing there was no point in arguing with her when her voice acquired that steely, Lily-like quality,

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Blair only advised, "Don't say that in public."

She had no intention of dropping the issue in the foreseeable future, though, not until Serena was back with Nate, like she should be. But at the moment, all she could do was try and cheer her sister up.

"Do you remember how much Lily hated that song?" she asked, hoping she was succeeding in infusing her voice with laughter.

Serena flashed her a small smile. "Eric used to play it whenever he was mad at her." "Yeah, before he realized that what got to her most was Lady Gaga."  
They both laughed.  
"Well, in my mom's defense," Serena said, "Eleanor isn't Gaga's biggest fan, either."

Blair covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Hey, the woman wasn't expecting to come back from Milan and find you, Anthony and Luke dancing to 'Beautiful, Dirty, Rich' on her eighteenth-century dining table!"

"You were on that table, too!" "Was not!"

"Were too! Though you probably don't remember because that was waaay after you let Charlie Dern slobber all over the pearls that were still..."

Serena guffawed as Blair hit her with a pillow mercilessly, over and over again.

"Around. Your. Neck," the blonde accentuated every word, though one had to wonder how she managed to talk at all through the contagious waves of laughter shaking her entire body.

"Hey!" Blair hit her on the head, now chortling herself. "That was a _very _long... necklace and I just handed him one end of it... and..."

She collapsed next to Serena and they remained two tittering messes for quite a while. They even managed to laugh a bewildered Dorota right out of the room.

"He just wanted to check," Blair explained in her best business voice when it all subsided, "what 'Loving me is like chewing on pearls.' meant."

Serena's giggle-attack started first again, with Blair's following closely. "God, that was awful!" Blair said as her body finally calmed down.

"It was your fifteenth birthday, and your first drink... or ten." Serena shrugged good-naturedly. "It's good that you got Kati and Iz to steal Luke's phone, though."

Blair grinned at the memory. "Not only did I remove the incriminating photos of Charlie munching on

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my heirloom, but I also got the first piece of the puzzle that landed me the crown of Constance."

Serena did not seem too interested in the umpteenth retelling of "Devious Intentions, or How I Became the Youngest Queen in the History of Constance Billard," however.

"Funny how it has always been a Charles," she mused, talking more to herself than to Blair.

And suddenly nothing was funny anymore.

"What should I do, S?"

"It's Sunday," Serena replied wisely. "As per usual, Cyrus is taking Eleanor to dinner. And he's bound to be at Victrola."

And at Victrola he was. The bartender had told her that much.

Yet, she just stood there, twirling her empty martini glass. What if...

"No what if's," she reminded herself of Serena's advice.

She put the glass on the bar and took a step towards where he was supposed to be. Apparently, he wasn't very interested in the show tonight, since he was in the far corner.

As she started to weave her way through the crowd, her hand flew to her neck. There was no silent reassurance of the necklace, though, and she remembered putting it back into the purse. She could always put it back on later. It would be too much.

_I've been around a mirror enough to know it's hard to change. _

Stupid couples everywhere... They should just get a room and not block every possible passage in the club.

_We're like magicians when we dream _

She elbowed a particularly irritating glamazon.

_But we wake up and nothing's different. _

Her heart froze in her chest.

Of course he wasn't interested in the show. The fake blonde and the even faker redhead crawling over him would – without any doubt – provide him with a better, private show soon.

She was terrified that her voice might break, but she hated him even more than she hated herself at the moment so she couldn't just turn on her heel and leave.

"How predictable, Bass." She wished the amount of contempt in her voice could make her happy. Their eyes met and, for a brief moment until he averted his, a wild hope that something could still be

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salvaged possessed her. But then his lips curled into a smirk, and she knew there was nothing left for her there.

"Scotch and sluts." She raised her eyebrows. She knew she sounded just like Evelyn, but it felt good, better than she could ever have imagined.

"There's always room for one person more, Waldorf."

She wasn't sure what hurt and sickened her more – his smugness, or the looks of pity from his companions. Her lips twisted in disgust as she watched one of them, whose dress made her look like a nun in her color-blocked Hervé Léger, inch her hand up his thigh.

She flashed him a sugary smile. "As much as that doesn't tempt me, Bass," she opened her bag and pulled out a velvet box, "I just stopped by to give you this back."

As the box hit the table, something flickered across his face. Once again his eyes were the eyes of the boy she used to think could love her. But she wouldn't be as stupid to fall for that again, ever again.

"Your little friends here," she spread her lips into a smile as one of them was ripping her heart out by tugging at the platinum with her grubby little hands, "may need it. I don't."

"You know how much I love charity cases," she added. Chuck slammed the box shut on the girl's finger.

"They can use it to pay a couple of years' rent for their IKEA-furnished closets." She smiled at them with faux compassion, enjoying their humiliation as much as she could, although she was well-aware that these working girls didn't exactly have to shop at IKEA.

"Nice talking to you." She nodded.

"You left your cardigan," he said before she could leave, his words somewhat faster than his habitual drawl.

It was time she smirked at him. "Feel free to keep it. I know my used clothes are your fetish."

Finding a way back to the bar proved to be a task even more exhausting than finding his table. Maybe because she was trembling from head to toe now, though with what feeling... she didn't know. She just needed to sit down for a couple of minutes, to regroup.

She had barely been sitting for a couple of moments, however, when a hand covered her knee. "Hello, beautiful."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Baby Love **

_But all you do is treat me bad, break my heart and leave me sad. _

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"If you want to buy me a drink," Blair squared her shoulders, "keep your hands to yourself." Baizen sneered. "Why would I buy you a drink if I'm to keep my hands to myself?"

Before she could shrug and remove his hand from her leg using a napkin (she wouldn't touch the creep with a ten-foot pole, let alone her new PS1 pochette), however, he lifted his hand himself and motioned to the bartender.

A minute and half a dirty martini later, Blair asked him conversationally, "So, where's Wh- Georgina? I haven't seen her in a while."

From the corner of her eye, she could see his lips twitch for a moment, his somewhat handsome features twisting into a grimace which she wasn't able to decipher.

When he spoke up, his voice was as smooth as ever, though. "Given your closeness to the owner of this establishment..."

Blair chose to gloss over his words and the very deliberate pause he made, but her nails dug into the back of her bag. And where was that Mother-Chucker anyway? It was taking too long to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"...I must say I am surprised if you really don't know."  
"Enlighten me."  
Baizen chuckled, presumably at the utter lack of enthusiasm behind her chirping. Then he explained.

"Bass threatened he would tell her dear parents – who, by the way, are the only bigger psychos than G on the Upper East Side, in my not so humble opinion – some things about the show pony she sold and coke. Unless she moved in with her grandparents in Connecticut."

"From what I managed to gather despite her hysterics," he added after a beat, "it had something to do with you and your deb ball."

Blair finished her drink in silence, leaning forward and letting her hair form a curtain on the side of her face. She could feel Carter's eyes boring into her. She knew she had to look ridiculously pathetic, and she didn't even know why... Why did the knowledge that Chuck had banished Georgina because of the ball make her pulse race like this? It wasn't like he'd done it for her – the bitch had ruined his plans...

"If I didn't know better..."

Baizen's drawl pulled her from her thoughts, and Blair rolled her eyes inwardly. What was it with the UES guys? Only the Basstard could talk like that and give a girl goosebumps... at the very least.

"I'd say that our dear Bass is in love," he finished as the bartender handed him another scotch.  
Blair just lifted her chin a little and started sipping her own new drink. She didn't like Baizen one bit.

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Probably because she still hadn't figured out a better response to his fishing and his provocations than silence. That anger tinged with... something akin to sadness was still simmering in the pit of her stomach and clouding her judgment.

"Either way," the guy shrugged when he saw she wouldn't rise to the bait, "I guess I should thank him. She was getting really clingy."

She felt his hand on her again, this time dangerously close to the hem of her dress. She slammed his fingers with her bag without stopping to think. To her disgust, he only threw his head back and laughed heartily.

"Feisty," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement more than anything. "It's a bit clearer now why you were alone in that elevator. What did he do to piss you off?"

Allowing herself a brief frown at his unacceptable word choice, Blair took another swig of her martini. That was supposed to let the jerk know that conversation was over.

The idiot wasn't giving up that easily, though. She sighed on the inside. Just her luck.

"I have to say I rather like it that you're not clingy at all," he pulled his stool a bit closer to hers – for the same reason for which she let his hand rest on her thigh this time, she guessed.

"You didn't bat an eyelash when you saw him with those... _ladies of the night_."

His voice was low and he smelled of scotch and expensive cologne, and for a moment she almost wished that felt comfortable, or at least comforting. But his hot breath on her neck was decidedly sending shivers of revulsion only down her spine. So she lashed out, unsure at whom.

"I'm not particularly interested in STDs, so you can stop being so sure anything has ever happened between...," she could only hope the loathsome Baizen failed to catch the oh-so-slight quivering in her voice, "him and me."

"Horace..."

His voice was calm, but by now she knew him far well enough to recognize the anger underlying it, unmistakeably. Good. Not that he was angry for any reason other than his frenemy playing with his toy. Not that he came for any reason other than always having to have the last word. That was why she'd been expecting him all along, right?

"... you may stop serving Mr. Baizen. Someone from security will see him out."

For some reason – and, for the life of her, she didn't want to know what, not now – her heart sank all the way to the sticky floor when she stole a glance at him. His hands were empty. Had he really been capable of leaving _her _necklace in their dirty hands?

"Bass," Baizen began lazily, "just because you've bought this place with daddy's money, that doesn't mean you can treat patrons like that."

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He gave Blair's thigh a little squeeze. She had to fight off two urges simultaneously. She could not well vomit in public, or break the sleazoid's fingers in front of Chuck, could she?

Still, she let Chuck take her hand and pull her off the stool, as Baizen babbled, "Deal with the fact that the lady is simply not interested in contracting one of your STDs.", his hand resting in the air limply for a handful of moments. She almost wanted to laugh.

Until Chuck let go off her hand. Or, more precisely, dropped it like it was hot. Then she wanted to cry, scream, slap him, demand an explanation for everything – all at the same time. But she couldn't make a fool of herself, could she? If he could be cool, she could be cool.

"I doubt she's interested in contracting one of yours, either," he barked at Baizen, not sparing him another look.

"What are you doing with that insect?" He spat out the last word and his eyes darkened even more, if that was possible.

She scoffed valiantly, even if she was not in the mood for another fight. "You're delusional if you think you're any better than him."

His eyes remained glued to the ground for a long couple of moments.  
"I'm not," he confessed at last. "But he's just using you to get to me. Ask him about Switzerland."

Her lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. "What's the matter, Chuck?" she pressed. "Judging by the company you usually keep, I'd say you believe that diamonds are of most value that have passed through most jewelers' hands."

She wasn't completely sure – and she didn't want to be – what was driving her to say things like those, why she still wanted to get a rise out of him. She just wanted to shake him, to make him tell her... to make him tell her that she was his, like he was hers, that nothing had happened with those disgusting girls.

But he just kept gazing at her.

She grabbed the back of her stool. It always made her just a little faint when he looked at her like that, like... like Paul looked at Holly, like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. But the look that sometimes followed always made her want to scream on the top of her lungs. She hated when he looked at her like she was one of the most precious pieces in the Met. She wasn't. He wouldn't break her, he wouldn't damage her if he dared love her.

"You're better than that," he said finally, his voice equal parts softness and weariness. "Don't do something stupid just because..."

For once, he seemed unable to find the right words, and she seized the opportunity with eagerness. "So, you think this is all about you?"

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How could he? How could he see right through her charade and do nothing but offer a stupid half-sentence? God, she didn't know anymore what was real and what were her hopes and dreams. What was she to him? Was she _anything _to him?

"Newsflash, Bass: there is no... anything between us, nor will there ever be. I am free to do whatever I want."

She didn't even know if her indignation was real or false. She just knew that the lump in her throat was getting bigger, threatening to choke her.

"With whoever I want."

She turned her back to him and resumed her seat. She couldn't bear to look at him avoiding her eyes a second longer.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she felt a hand on her knee again.

"Now that Bass is finally gone," Carter whispered in her ear, his fingers inching up her thigh sleazily, "we can move this to the St. Regis– "

"So I can pay your bill in the morning?" she asked coolly as she slid down from her chair.

"You're way too beautiful for me to pull something like that." He stood up, too, eyeing her cleavage with unconcealed appreciation.

Fortunately, the thought crossed her mind before she snapped at him. "What did you have to do with Switzerland?"

If he was surprised by the sudden change of pace, he didn't show it. He only shrugged slowly. "I may have had something with dear old Bart sending him there."

"Why?"  
"I just enjoy messing with his head."  
Blair scraped his hand off her wrist with the edge of her bag. "Goodbye, Baizen." For good, hopefully. "Fucking tease," she thought she heard him mumble behind her back.

She rolled her eyes at his classlessness, albeit tiredly. He couldn't have seriously expected something from her. He had been aware of their tacit agreement just as well as she had. They had let themselves be each other's pawns in their games against Chuck. Now they – or at least she – had lost...

She shivered as she slipped into her coat. Stupid. Would she accept already that there wasn't a happily-ever-after waiting for her and Chuck just around the corner? Not when he was hot one moment and colder than the South Pole the next one. She couldn't but wonder if she knew him at all. And why the hell he wouldn't leave her alone if he couldn't... if he didn't–

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Shaking her head to send those thoughts running, she walked past him and onto the street as if he were air. She wished she was seemingly leaving with Baizen. Like that would mean anything to him...

"Fifth and 95th," she nearly cried at the driver as she slid into the backseat, ignoring the loud protests of some Jersey-Shore types. God, what was he paying those bouncers for?

The night was long, and all the longer because it wasn't dreamless.  
When she woke up, trembling from head to toe, all she could remember was a whirl of voices. "He's just using you to get to me."  
"He only still tolerates you because he hates me."  
"Diamonds are of most value, they say, that have pass'd through most jewelers' hands."  
"What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale make a woman believe?"  
"If I didn't know better, I'd say that our dear Bass is in love."  
"Be happy that he doesn't love you."

She allowed herself to cry just a little while she stared into the darkness. She didn't know anymore who had said what – Baizen, Chuck, she, Bart, Evelyn... She didn't know who she had been, who she was, let alone Chuck.

"This has to end."

She was loud enough that the empty crystal vase – Dorota must have thrown the flowers away last night – reverberated on her nightstand.

She climbed out of bed and drew the drapes open. The sun was still young, but it seemed the day was going to be nice. She walked into her closet, not bothering to wait for Dorota to lay the clothes for today out for her while she was in the shower or having breakfast. Then she busied herself with a quick facial, Gossip Girl and reciting her English presentation under her breath.

When she arrived, the school was all but empty. She didn't mind. She couldn't wait to start her new, Chuck Bass-free life.

Of course, she shouldn't have expected that she wouldn't be reminded of her old life as soon as that very afternoon.

No sooner had she set foot in the penthouse, than Dorota waddled to her, eyes lighting up. "Miss Blair," she said merrily, albeit a bit breathlessly, "this come for you this morning."

Blair followed her gaze to a bouquet of pink peonies. Something tightened in her stomach when she noticed they were accompanied by a black velvet box and a note sitting atop of it.

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"See how we can send it all back, Dorota." She ignored the very obvious rounding of the maid's eyes as she almost took pleasure in how strong she sounded.

"Go call a courier service," she added brusquely when it seemed the woman was about to say something.

Then, having heard the door click shut after Dorota, she inched to the table. Guilt rippled through her as she picked up the note. No willpower. Just the need to feed the addiction.

She bit back a mirthless laugh at her desperation as she tore the envelope open.

_doesn't mean there never was _

The words stared at her for an eternity. So, this was it. This really was it this time. Past tense. Closure.

She ignored Dorota's wide eyes and whatever she just said, and the delivery guy beside her, as she climbed to her room, her knuckles white and her fingers numb from clutching the flowers, the box and the note to her chest. She didn't care about anything or anyone. All she wanted was to curl into a ball and cry until her entire body and her mind were numb. When it's forever, parting is just sorrow.

Weeks later, she would still catch herself glancing towards the vase. Stupid. The peonies had, naturally, long withered. She had – stealthily from the smarter part of herself – tucked one into the copy of _Pride and Prejudice _she'd been reading in the Hamptons. And then she told Dorota that only hydrangeas would be allowed in her room for the time being. They were told to be able to break the curse, after all. And they seemed to be working. She only thought of... Chuck _occasionally _now. Not every waking moment like she used to. She didn't dream about him every night. Although... No, she wouldn't even think about _that_. It would go away, it had to–

Grateful for the interruption of her reluctant introspection, she only shook her head lightly when Serena barged in. Why bother knocking, right?

"Mmm!" Serena grabbed a cookie and popped it into her mouth as she threw herself on the bed, next to Blair's newest SAT prep book.

"Chips Ahoy," she said when she was able to speak again. "I haven't seen those here for a while."

Blair bit into a cookie herself, reveling in the chocolate melting in her mouth. Sure, Chips Ahoy had nothing on Ladurée, but she had found herself craving the comfort food of her childhood. With all the stress, who could blame her?

"You mean, since my mother prohibited Dorota from buying them because I was getting fat." She breathed out through her nose, trying to keep the façade of irritation up, although she – quite inexplicably – felt like crying all of a sudden.

"So," Serena started, unperturbed by Blair's loud gasp and slap on her hand when she dipped a cookie into her glass of milk, "does this mean you're feeling better?"

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Blair forced her lips into a smile. "Yes, that pesky food poisoning is a thing of the past." When Serena kept staring at her, she babbled on.

"I've been thinking and it must have been the tuna in Mark's Madison salad. Do you think I can sue Fred's or Barneys? Maybe I can make them carry Mother's line for the next fifty years? She's been going on and on about how the latest RTW isn't selling all that well." Her laughter sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Serena inhaled sharply. "Blair..."

And Blair didn't know why, but she felt so small then. It wasn't helping that she was in her lacy pink babydoll and Serena was all but channeling Eleanor in her crisp white blouse and pearls. Court hearing, she remembered; William van der Woodsen may get to pay some child support at last. She wanted to slap herself for being such a terrible friend.

"How did it go?" she asked tenderly.

Serena was suddenly finding the Marie Antoinette on the wall fascinating. "I don't really want to talk about it."

An uncomfortable silence ensued, and Blair was never more grateful for Dan Humphrey's existence than when his name flashed across the screen of Serena's phone, bringing sound to the room and allowing her to breathe again. To her amazement, though, Serena swiftly refused the call and threw her phone into what she usually called an old-lady Chanel.

"It's just..." she tried to answer Blair's raised eyebrows.

When she didn't say anything else for a while, Blair held the plate up to her. After another cookie and another – this time less oppressive – pause, Serena did seem to be more talkative.

"I just can't deal with him right now. He's... It's just... Sometimes I think that he isn't and will never be okay with the fact that I have more money than him."

Blair sighed. "Just dump him already."

Serena – seeming a bit miffed, perhaps – opened her mouth, but she was quicker. "He has served his purpose as a low-rent, short-term replacement for Nate anyway."

"He is no–"

"Have you finally talked with Nate?" Blair insisted, dismissing her friend's half-hearted protest with a brief wave of her hand.

"Have you?" she repeated, a bit softer, feeling like crying again, this time because of Serena's love life. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? Then again...

"No." Thankfully, Serena answered.

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"Why not?" Blair whispered. She took Serena's hand, which was dog-earring her prep book, into hers. "You two love each other. You both deserve to be happy."

Serena shook her head vehemently. "Nate deserves... someone who's not me."

Blair could hear tears in her voice loud and clear, but her friend was not crying. She, on the other hand, was.

"Don't say that!" she said as she squeezed Serena in a bear hug. "You're Serena van der Woodsen. You are... _amazing_, the best thing that could've ever happened to him."

"No."

Serena shook her head again and Blair nearly choked on a mouthful of golden hair. It wasn't funny, though. Nothing was funny. How could Serena even think that–

"Nate... He deserves a simple, uncomplicated... love."

"No, it's not like that." That was all Blair was able to say before they fell into a silence again. She had wanted to say that love was never simple... and even if that wasn't true, who would want simple anyway? Then she realized that she did. Of course she did. Complicated spelled disaster. She and Chuck... they were complicated, they had been complicated, and... Bile rose in her throat.

"I'm sorry," she managed as she extricated herself from Serena.

While she was getting up from her knees and brushing her teeth, she was trying to come up with something. She knew Serena wouldn't let her off the hook just like that.

Of course she was right.

When she re-entered her room, her best friend was waiting by the vanity, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"Recurring food poisoning?" the blonde offered.  
She smiled weakly. "I probably shouldn't have drunk milk and eaten chocolate right away." "Blair," Serena uncrossed her arms, "how long?"

Blair chose to ignore the gentle question. How long what, anyway? How long since the sickness started? How long since her last period? How long had she been afraid that she was carrying the Basstard's...? She couldn't even think it, let alone say it! Because it wasn't true... It just wasn't!

"Blair..."  
"I have no idea what you're talking about." "Have you taken a test?"

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"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She turned her back to Serena. She could still hear her sigh.

"If it's positive, B, you'll figure it out. I'll help you figure it out. But you have to know for sure."

"There's nothing _to know_!" she exploded. To her horror, instead of venomous words which were already on the tip of her tongue, sobs followed.

She felt Serena try to pull her into her arms. "It's going to be okay, B. I know you're scared, but–" "You know nothing, Serena!" She tore herself away.  
"We're over... for good," she hiccuped through her tears pitifully. "And I may be... with his..." She flung herself onto the bed and hid her face into a pillow.

When her tears dried up at last, Serena kissed the top of her head and got up.

"I'm going to tell Dorota to bring you some toast," she answered Blair's silent question. "And I'll be right back."

"I'm not taking that test, Serena!" Blair all but screamed at her retreating back.

When Serena returned, she was fully dressed and perfectly calm. Much to her dismay, in her pastel plaid skirt and her white turtleneck, she still looked like a little kid next to Serena.

"Here." Serena shoved a bag from Duane Reade into her hands.

She tossed it onto the vanity table, using two fingers only.

Serena very obviously stifled a sigh. "B, you can't be that unreasonable."

"I am not unreasonable. Or pregnant. It was a false alarm."

The blonde's eyes turned into slits.

"Do you want to see my sheets?" Blair mocked.

"Blair, I know you're scared, but you can't sweep a baby under the rug."

Blair bit her tongue but had to roll her eyes exaggeratedly at Serena's pleading.

"Don't worry, S. Fortunately, the world won't be cursed with a mini-Basstard in a few months."

As Serena's phone rang, she added, disdain oozing from her voice, "Unless he has impregnated one of his whores."

"Yes," Serena twittered at the person on the other side of the line before she hung up, "that sounds

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great, Dan!"  
Blair let her eyebrows do the talking once more.

"He's a good guy, essentially." Serena sighed a little. "It's just... It can be tough when he's on scholarship and my mom just gave a hefty donation to the school."

"Essentially," Blair countered, "you should dump him already."

"And," she hurried when Serena's eyes landed on the wretched Duane Reade bag again, "now that we know Bart Bass isn't going to be a grandpa, you're free to do so immediately." She flashed her friend the widest of smiles. "Isn't that great?"

"I think," Serena said slowly, "that you should still take at least one test... just to be on the safe side."

"Fine, Mom!" Blair rolled her eyes as playfully as she was able to while she pushed Serena out of the room.

"Promise?" Serena turned around as she started trudging down the stairs.

"Promise." Blair smiled again.

"And don't be gentle!" she sang after her friend.

When the elevator dinged and took Serena with it, she let the mask slip off her face and sighed in momentary relief. One would think she would be accustomed to the pain fake smiles inflicted by now.

Once in her room, she hid the bag with the tests into the powder-rose Miu Miu bow bag. She couldn't well just throw them into trash, where Dorota was bound to find them... And if Mother ever found out... She shuddered as she returned to her SAT prep.

No, she would not take a single test. There was no need for that. She was not pregnant. She simply was not, period.

That constant need to cry could be explained by at least thousand other reasons, she thought the following day, as she was hiding from her minions in a corner of the courtyard. All the SAT-related stress was just one of them. In the middle of their lunch, Penelope had "casually" mentioned that Nelly Yuki – that insufferable know-it-all – was also applying to Yale. Blair felt like everything, her entire meticulously planned life was slipping through her fingers... She told her minions – Serena was having lunch with her, unfortunately, still-boyfriend Humphrey – that she had to fix her makeup. Then she came here, in her cardigan only, to get some air and sniffle pathetically.

"Waldorf."  
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long, long moment. "You're going to freeze."

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She hated how concerned he sounded. If he didn't want to be with her, he certainly didn't have to be worried about her well-being. Not that that was the only reason she hated him at the moment.

"Don't talk to me," she barked out.

Wordlessly, he offered her his coat. Which only made her more enraged. And one of the reasons might have been... the fact that she had always been partial to his St. Jude's uniform. It made her livid that she was about ready to jump his bones then and there, after everything.

He walked up behind her and put the coat on her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat at his touch.

He must have caught that, as he said, shamelessly, "I'm throwing a party on Saturday. I was hoping we could relive the last one."

She wanted to be disgusted, she really did. But his proximity, his voice... After all, despite her better judgment, she had spent nights tossing and turning and wishing he was in her bed. So, it was somewhat normal that she wanted to drag him into the broom closet right now. It was just... hormones, she concluded. And then her whole body went cold.

"No, not like that," she muttered to herself under her breath. "I'm just a nympho; I'm not–"

"In your dreams, Bass." She snarled at him – that was a surefire distraction, and good for her self-esteem. "It wasn't even that great."

"Thank you," he drawled lazily, obviously untouched by her lie.

She huffed. "Please, like it was great, for you."

"You really are delusional."

She felt like crying again, like bawling her eyes out. He had no right to talk to her that softly, or touch her hair. It was over. They had ended it. There was no going back, ever.

"What do you want from me?" she asked quietly, exasperated.

Silence.

As always. She scoffed.

Luckily, her minions saved her from having to think of a cutting remark.

"Blair," Penelope nearly sang, her dark eyes dancing – no doubt with glee at having caught her alone with Chuck, "there you are!"

"We've been looking for you everywhere," Hazel chimed in.  
"It's time for the meeting with Headmistress Queller, about the Kiss on the Lips party," Kati

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elaborated, while Iz nodded.  
"That's right." Blair nodded regally and shrugged the Basstard's coat off her shoulders. She led her minions back into the building without casting a single glance his way.

She did catch a glimpse of someone else, though; of Little J – who she had put in charge of the posters for the Valentine Day's party, after she had informed her that freshmen simply could not be on the committee – chatting _very _animatedly with Nate. God, she could even swear that the little weasel had touched his hair! Didn't the girl know what she was doing? Well, she would be sure to remind her what would befall her if she dared chase after the guy Serena loved.

When Jenny Humphrey didn't come to lunch tomorrow, for the second day in a row, Blair sent Penelope and Hazel to find her and tell her she needed to see her asap, in the library.

Ten minutes later, the little rebel appeared, flanked by P and H. Her lips were pinched together, but even more than her sour face, Blair disliked her clothes. The girl was wearing a red Jennifer Ouellette headband with an enormous bow (Blair had an exact same one in her collection) and a – no doubt vintage – gold silk blouse with a lacy jabeau. To top it all off, a little princess charm dangled from her consignment-shop Marc Jacobs. Did the little Brooklynite really think she was royalty now? And that she could have the prince of the Upper East Side? Serena's prince?

Blair sighed a little. It was high time she put the girl back in her place. "Thank you, Penelope, Hazel. You may leave us now."  
"You wanted to see me, B?" The blonde took a seat opposite her. Blair smiled, coldly. "Indeed, Little J."

"I noticed you weren't at lunch yesterday, or today," she added when she decided she had let the girl wonder why she'd been summoned long enough.

Jenny cracked a small smile. "That won't happen again. A friend needed my help with something."

"I know it won't happen again," Blair told her sweetly. "Because if you ever again try anything with Nate Archibald while he's confused about another girl, I'm going to ruin you."

"Nate is not confused about anyone," Jenny retorted, equally matter-of-factly.

Blair managed to curl her lips into something that she hoped resembled a smile. "I don't think you understood me, Little J," she said with feigned calmness, seething.

"No," the girl all but interrupted her.  
For the first time, Blair noticed just how cold and calculated her baby-blue eyes could be. "I don't think you understand. If you try to separate me from Nate..."

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She ignored Blair's half-snort.

"...I will tell Chuck – maybe even Gossip Girl," she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper, "that there's a bun in your oven."

Blair's forced laugh – though at any other time she would have laughed genuinely at the girl's choice of words – came out much more strangled than planned. "Whatever you're talking about, Little J..."

Jenny just shook her head and shot her an ugly grin. "No point in trying to deny it, B," she chirped, still under her breath. "Even if you had taken that test..."

Blair wasn't listening any longer. _Even if you had taken that test... _Serena. How could she? How dared she tell anyone, let alone her low-rent boyfriend... And now his social-climbing sister had her in the palm of her badly manicured hand. To betray her like that...

But Blair Waldorf wasn't going down without a fight.

"You're bluffing, Little J. If you knew anything about me, that would have been all over Gossip Girl ages ago."

The girl just shook her head again. "You're forgetting that it's still in my best interest for you to remain the queen, B." She stood up. "But try to separate me and Nate, and I won't be that kind."

Blair didn't even wait for her mop of blonde hair to disappear completely before she buried her face in her hands. Not only was it possible... maybe... that she was perhaps carrying the Basstard's spawn, but everybody could find out. God, she had really messed up... But she couldn't really be expecting! Oh God... What had she gotten herself into? She felt a couple of hot tears slip through her fingers. God...

She tried to call Serena, but all her calls went straight to voice mail. Not that she really wanted to talk to her right now. Yelling just made her tired these days.

_I need to talk with you. Pick me up at the Frick at 3:20_, she texted.

As a voice droned about Renoir (she did love him, just not today; and she would come to the exhibition herself, it was only the first day...) in the multimedia room at the Frick, she was doing her best not to fidget in her seat. When the hands of her little Hermès wristwatch kissed at last, she whispered to Kati, "I accidentally checked my phone. I'll be right back."

Then she hurried past a sleeping Madame Rogers, picked up her bag and her coat, and nearly ran into the clear February afternoon. She closed her eyes in relief for a split second when she saw that the limo was already waiting.

She slid inside, not bothering to wait for the door to be opened for her, and slammed said door shut. "So, what did you want to talk about?" Chuck broke the silence when she kept staring in front of her. "Not here," she muttered, "I can't talk about it here."

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Amazingly enough, he didn't press her further. "Arthur, let's head to the Palace."

As she watched Fifth Avenue pass by, she regretted her choice, though. In the car, she wouldn't have to look at him – or at least that was what she was telling herself. Either way, it wasn't helping that she could feel his eyes on her the entire time. She bit back a sigh. Oh, how she wished she weren't herself and he weren't himself, and she could just curl up against him and he would tell her everything was going to be alright... But this was not a time for silly dreams and movie-directing in her head, she reminded herself as the limo stopped in front of the entrance. This was her messed-up life. As she hadn't messed it up all by herself, however, he would have to help her...

The elevator ride was pure torture. Worse than the medieval kind. From that one look she dared to direct his way, she could tell he was thinking the same thing she did. And she didn't know what crazy part of her was encouraging her to act like an idiot, but she was... this close to kissing him again. Just to see if it would feel the same way after a month. A month and a day.

Fortunately, in the end, she managed to resist her baser instincts, but her knees felt embarrassingly weak when their hands brushed as they entered the penthouse. Once again, he led the way to his room, but he wasn't holding her hand this time, and her heart was beating wildly with a different kind of anticipation.

"I need you to help me take down little Jenny Humphrey," she said fast, too fast, while he was closing the door. She couldn't tell him, not right away.

His eyebrows shot up. He wasn't convinced. Damn.

"Why Jenny Humphrey?" he humored her. "She's hardly interesting enough."

"Because of Serena... and Nate."

He flinched visibly at the mention of his (former?) best friend, and she couldn't but ask softly, gingerly, "Have you and Nate talked?"

For a while, she thought he wasn't even going to acknowledge her question.

"No, not really," he said finally, and he sounded so tired that she felt the urge to hug him; but – of course – she couldn't do that, so they continued to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"You should talk." was the only thing she could offer, given the circumstances. "Nate is a good guy. What happened... it doesn't matter anyway, as I... you and I..."

Long silence. Stupid. She really should have thought everything through at least once more before she had texted him.

"So, what's Jenny Humphrey got on you if you need my help?" She took a deep breath. This really was a horrible mistake.

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"Blair?"

But she couldn't even look at him.

"What's going on?"

She hated how small her voice sounded. "It's possible... I may be... pregnant."

She mustered the courage to look at him at last, but now he wasn't looking at her. She could feel tears, odious tears, gather at her lashes. Of course. He would tell her to take care of her mess on her own...

"I think I need a drink," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'd offer you one, but alcohol is bad for the... uh..."

As his hand touched her flat stomach clumsily and their eyes really met for the first time since she'd entered the limo, she stopped doubting herself. She had done the right thing when she'd decided to tell him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: The Unforgiven II **

_Speak the words I want to hear, to make my demons run. _

While Chuck went to retrieve scotch from a different room, Blair perched herself on the edge of his bed. Now that he was gone, that strange serenity she had started to feel about... the entire situation was nowhere to be found. God, what if... She winced, both at the thought she didn't dare finish and the pain the neatly manicured nails of her right hand induced in the palm of the left. She shook her head as she inspected the angry-red marks in her flesh. Why she? They had been safe. This shouldn't be happening. And it _wasn't _happening. It just wasn't.

"I am Blair Waldorf," she whispered to the empty room through her teeth. "I am _not _pregnant."

Not even she could pretend the words didn't sound utterly hollow. Therefore, instead of trying to calm her trembling nerves with more meaningless blabber, she focused on twisting and turning her ruby ring, making her skin almost unbearably raw. The knots in her stomach remained merciless still.

She wished Chuck would come back already. Now that she had told him, everything seemed infinitely more real, and thus infinitely more frightening. As old as she was, she was still the little girl who needed to pretend that bad things didn't happen if you didn't mention them out loud. If you don't say it out loud, you didn't accidentally rip off the head of Serena's favorite Barbie doll yesterday. Penelope didn't get yogurt on your math notes and you didn't cajole Luke into chopping off her entire ponytail in retaliation. No, you're still Daddy's little girl, made of sugar, spice and everything nice. If you don't tell that to anyone, including yourself, you didn't overhear your parents fighting when you skipped gym that day. You don't lock yourself up in the bathroom after every meal. But once you do say it out loud... there's no going back. So, although she was briefly tempted to pick up her coat and her bag, catch a cab back to the Frick or home, to return to her SAT prep, she did not move from her spot.

To distract herself and save her ring finger, she started counting in her head. She was at twenty-four

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when Chuck finally emerged from the corridor. He paused in the doorway for a beat, taking her in, apparently. Then he sat on a chair. This suddenly made her self-conscious to the point where she was about ready to kick herself. Why on Earth would she have sat down on his bed? Besides, if it hadn't been for his bed, she would never be in this situation in the first place. She hated his bed, with the fire of a thousand suns! She crossed her legs at the ankles primly, as the way Chuck was looking at her – like she was the best éclair ever, which she would have found flattering under any other circumstances – and the bothersome bed-related memory that was creeping into her consciousness made her lose her focus for a moment. Not that it didn't feel good to forget about her... _their _predicament for a split second, but seriously... how stupid could her body be?

_Dear God_, she avowed solemnly in her head, _if you don't make me... you know what, I will never as much as eye-fuck Chuck Bass again. _

And she fully intended to do so. With her luck, the Basstard would impregnate her by looking at her. Hell, that gaze alone was bordering on sexual harassment. Not that she was feeling _harassed_.

_Enough. _She shook her head at herself inwardly.  
"Finished the bottle already?" she asked out loud, trying to curl her lips into something resembling a

smile and failing miserably.

Chuck looked down at the half-empty tumbler in his hand – the only thing he had brought, to her surprise.

"Bart's had the liquor cabinet locked up," he said at the liquid. His attempt at a smile was even more pitiful than hers, if that was possible.

He swirled the glass between his fingers. "It took me a while to open it, but this is my first drink. I... thought it would be a good idea to approach this sober."

He lifted his eyes to her face at last and the intensity she was not fully certain how to decipher almost scared her. What was far scarier were the thoughts that intensity stirred awake from where they had been buried. The thoughts of a smirking boy who'd say to his friends, "Chuck's had the liquor cabinet locked up." Of a little ballerina with honey-colored eyes and black hair.

She wondered for a second whether he would think she was clinically insane if he could read her mind. But there was nothing wrong with being a planner, was there? So what if she had known, while he was sexting her (or trying to, anyway) during Thanksgiving dinner, that they were going to name their children Charles Harold (Bartholomew was so... ew) and Beatrice Lydia?

When they stopped playing games.  
When they were married.  
When they were twenty-seven and not seventeen.

Not now. Mother would kill her. Bart Bass would kill Chuck. Daddy would be so disappointed. She'd be on _Teenage Moms _or whatever and not at Yale. Would she even graduate? She would never set foot

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in Constance again, that much was clear. Her life would be over. She would hate herself. Chuck would hate her. That is, if he would want anything to do with her and the...

She felt her heart lurch forward, as if trying to break free from her chest. Her breath was frighteningly short. _What did I get myself into? _she wondered before every rational thought was chased off by the fear enveloping her.

She barely registered Chuck moving and murmuring something. An eternity passed. Then, as her breathing was slowly returning to normal, so was her hearing.

"It's okay, Blair. Breathe." She made out the words. "It's okay."

_It's okay. _Over and over. Her hand in his as he knelt in front of her. _It's okay. _Over and over. Until she started to believe him.

Then she nodded, placing her free hand against his cheek. And actually managed a genuine half-smile.

He didn't smile back, though. If anything, her smile seemed to have pierced the bubble of his determination and self-assuredness. No confident _okays _left his mouth any longer. Instead of lightening up, his eyes went darker still.

"You okay?" he choked out at last.  
She nodded again, her cheeks warming up. There was no fear left, at least not that paralyzing kind.

He pressed his forehead into her knees. His hand relaxed in hers. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had finally been removed from them. As she watched him, she didn't think she had ever loved him more. Without thinking, she ran her hand through his hair, again and again.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.  
"Are you okay?" His tone echoed hers.

She wanted to answer but swallowed back her words when he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She could barely remember the last time they were this close.

"I am now."

She doubted he'd heard her as she slid onto the floor next to him. His eyes still shone with what she would swear were tears if he weren't Chuck Bass. She wanted to tell him so many things, but it was easier to kiss all the confessions into his lips. So she kissed him. And, ever so tenderly, he pulled her closer. And he kissed her until she forgot her own name, until there was nothing left in the world but the two of them, until nothing was important but his touch.

"Chuck..." she said, between deep breaths. An indefinite, and probably inordinate, amount of time had passed.

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"You're right..."

He sounded genuinely apologetic, but she knew he was thinking the same thing she did... Just a minute longer. That wasn't too much to ask. Just one more kiss.

Or two.

Or...

The knock was followed by a very sheepish attempt at throat clearing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bass," the woman hurried as both Blair and Chuck pulled away, "but Arthur told me this was urgent."

She tapped a little brown bag which very obviously (and unfortunately) was not from Bloomingdales, and Blair cringed as she adjusted her skirt. When did Chuck's hand end up halfway underneath it? And, more importantly, when did her leg end up hooked over his hip? God, as though the contents of that bag shouldn't be enough of a repellent, for both of them! She cringed once more, half-hoping the woman had no idea what was in the bag and pressing her legs together.

"He apologizes, but the errand he had to run for Mrs. Bass took longer than expected." "It's alright, Larissa," Chuck said, getting to his feet. "Thank you."

The maid handed him the bag and, from the seemingly involuntary, amused little smile which followed her eyes from the brown paper to her and back, Blair concluded with certainty what she was thinking. She was past mortified, so she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"It's a bit late for that, Larissa!" she wanted to shout. "And they don't seem to be too reliable anyway!"

Larissa bowed a little and the door shut behind her with a quiet click. The silence in the room was deafening. Blair busied herself by scrambling to her feet.

"I..." Chuck played with the bag, unrolling it slowly and then rolling it down again, "told Arthur to stop by a pharmacy. I wasn't sure if you took a test, and even if you did..." He trailed off but at least he looked at her at last.

"I figured. And I didn't," she wanted to say. But her throat was so dry that she could only nod miserably.

Chuck opened his mouth and then closed it again. He reached into the bag and pulled a blue box out of it.

"We'll know in three minutes," he said in his best business voice.

Her hands were trembling so much that the only not completely embarrassing way to take the box was to snatch it from him. He was fast, though, and his hand closed around her fingers.

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"It's going to be alright. Whatever it says."

The rational part of her knew he was trying to ease her mind a little, to make it better. But nothing could make this better.

"Yes, I imagine you have quite an experience in the matter," she snapped. In all probability, he did have it.

Something flashed in his eyes, but he was perfectly impassive when he said, "Actually, I don't." "You seem to be my first in a few ways, too, Waldorf," he murmured.

Although she was fairly certain the accompanying smirk was all for show – or precisely because she was sure it was – she managed to grant him a small smile before she slapped his hand off the box. "Forgive me for not being honored."

She marched into the en suite bathroom and leaned against the closed door. It was all so awful, so wrong. Chuck was in the other room, waiting for her to pee on a plastic stick. How very romantic. That meant that even if it was – _please God! _– negative, whatever they had was pretty much over for good. And to top it all, she didn't even know for sure how to use the damn _contraption_... And if it wasn't... Well, she was going to kill herself, she supposed, before Mother got her hands around her neck...

She put the box onto the marble counter and clasped her hands together to still them. After a couple of minutes, she finally managed to read the instructions.

After a few more minutes, there was banging on the door.  
"Blair, are you okay? Can I come in?" Chuck didn't quite sound like himself.

Reluctantly, she unglued her eyes from the sink, where she had left the test mere handful of moments before, and opened the door.

"Now we wait," she informed the wall above his left ear, just to break the silence.

He squeezed her hand lightly. Then he pushed himself onto the counter, to the left of the sink. It seemed that he didn't trust his legs too much, either, she thought as she occupied the right side of the counter.

"If it's positive," he sounded like he was going to choke on the word, "there are options." She tried to snort. It was easier that way. "I'm a big girl, Bass."

"And we both know that, in our situation, and with our parents, there is only one real option," she added more quietly, shivering at her own words. She thought she saw him flinch from the corner of her eye.

"It doesn't have t–"

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"Stop it, Chuck!" She shook her head from side to side. "Will you play daddy between your appointments with hookers? Or will Evelyn and Bart adopt... it?" She sobbed into her hands, to her horror. "Do you want me to say it so you wouldn't be the bad guy? Fine then, the onl–"

"Don't. Please."

He pulled her off the counter and she found herself weeping into his St. Jude's shirt while he stroked her hair and her back.

"God, I'm going crazy..." she sniffled.

"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "I know. I'm sorry."

Then she felt his hand leave her hair. Her heart rate doubled.

"What-"

"Not pregnant," he whispered.

A long silence ensued before they laughed in unison, albeit more than a bit nervously.

"Thank you," Blair mouthed at the ceiling, making Chuck laugh for real this time.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Just you laugh!"

God, did she love when he laughed! And did it feel good to be able to laugh, to be able to breathe!

"Just you laugh, Bass!"

"It isn't like _your _maker helped us," she let him know as she grabbed the test and tossed it into the trash.

It seemed he wanted to say something, but in the end he bit his lip instead. She almost teased him about the cat getting his tongue, but her own words got stuck in her throat.

"Chuck, I..."

His face was less than an inch from hers and she wanted the same. She wanted it so much. But it would be so indescribably stupid...

"I'd better leave." He nodded.

She performed a perfunctory check of her makeup in the mirror. (Thank the powers that be for advanced waterproof formulas!)

Then she returned to his room and he followed suit.

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"Blair..." he hesitated when he took her coat from her to help her into it, "are you sure you don't want to go see a doctor?"

"Positive," she rolled her eyes at her self, "completely." She turned to him as she buttoned up. "Besides, we were safe, weren't we?"

"Yes..."  
She slung her bag over her shoulder and smiled at him weakly.  
"I'm glad," he looked down at his feet for a beat, "you told me. Thank you..."

"Well," she interrupted the awkward pause, infusing her voice with not completely false cheerfulness, "I figured it would be better to find out now and not when you come home for the summer next year and him or her calls you Dad."

Chuck frowned. "Can they speak that early?"  
She shrugged. How would she know?  
"I'll find Arthur to take you home."  
"No, you stay here. I'll see myself out. And I'll walk, I want to." She needed to clear her head. When she was already at the door, she turned to him again.

"Thank you..." She felt her cheeks burn again. She shook off the feeling fast, however; the man had looked at her urine on a stick, there was definitely no room for being coy. "For everything... That panic thing has never happened before."

A fleeting smile crossed his face. "Honestly, Waldorf, I thought I would be the one to crack first. I guess that scotch did help."

They stood in silence for a couple of moments. "So... see you at school," she said gingerly. "See you, Blair."

At the landing, she fought the urge to turn around. Stupid. What if he _was _looking after her? Big deal. She all but skipped down the last few steps and crossed the distance to the elevator. Her index finger was already on the button when she felt a presence behind her.

Were she somewhere else, she would assume that creep of Georgina Sparks was back to stalk her and generally make her life as miserable as she was able to. As she was in the Basses' penthouse, though, she knew immediately that it was the only person sicker than Georgina – whatever Baizen claimed. She sighed inwardly. Did the woman monitor the elevator or something? She turned to her with her widest, most insincere smile.

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"Mrs. Bass, it's such a pleasure! How are you?"

Evelyn looked bored most of all, though Blair knew better by now (and took not a small amount of pleasure in the almost imperceptible raise of her perfectly shaped eyebrows).

"It depends," the Wicked Witch smoothed down her already impeccable Lanvin.

It was Blair's turn to raise her eyebrows. Truth be told, she'd had enough of everything today and just wanted to go home and sleep. She wouldn't let this woman intimidate her or see her cry once more, however. She would win this one. Even though Evelyn Bass made her mother look like a Care Bear.

"You see, _darling_, I know."

Blair widened her eyes, a picture perfect of innocence and curiosity. In fact, both came naturally at this occasion, because she honestly had no idea what exactly the bitch thought she knew and about whom.

Running a diamond-encrusted hand over her almost unnaturally glossy hair, Evelyn elaborated, "I know about you and Charles."

"Oh." Blair mimicked her mother's version of "Talk to the hand, bitch." rather exquisitely if she said so herself. She didn't particularly care if Evelyn knew she had slept with her son. Normally, the very thought of her... whatever's mother talking about bedroom stuff would make her uncomfortably squirmy. Nevertheless, when said mother was a psycho who wanted to play mind games with you on one of the most stressful days of your seventeen years on Earth, that really put things into... well, a different perspective.

Evelyn wasn't impressed by her nonchalance, or maybe she was – Blair reached the definite conclusion that Chuck had inherited his poker face from both his parents.

"Let me make myself a bit more clear: I know what you and Charles did today."  
"Yes, well, it's always better to run your lab results by another person taking chemistry."

Chuck's mother returned her smile, with equal cordiality. "Just like it's always better not to wait on your pregnancy test results on your own."

This _oh _was decidedly less calculated and controlled. Amusement – all the time spent with Chuck in the past half year helped Blair recognize it – sparkled in the witch's eyes.

"If that is what has been putting a damper on your day, Mrs. Bass, I can assure you you have nothing to worry about." There, done, gracefully. No point in denying everything. She made a mental note to tell Chuck he should be more aware of where Arthur's and Larissa's loyalties lay. Dorota would never do such a thing. "I wish you a pl–"

"You have no idea how happy I am, my dear!" Evelyn grabbed both her hands.  
"I... my mother... as well," Blair stuttered, blindsided by this display of... _affection _and almost literally

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blinded by the most charming smile she'd seen on the Upper East Side, Lily van der Woodsen's and her daughter's included.

"Oh no, dear," the woman laughed her musical little laugh, "I'm happy for you most of all!"

Blair couldn't but frown in a way which was basically the fast lane to Botox. Was Chuck's mother trying to tell her that the Basses wouldn't take any responsibility at all if the test had been positive?

"You are just like me, my dear," Evelyn continued and Blair shivered at the memory.

"And despite how young he is, Charles is a Bass. This would have ruined you." She gave Blair's hands a light squeeze. "Unplanned pregnancy, unwanted child, lifetime of misery."

Blair squeezed her hands out of her grip. Unwanted child? The blasé tone sickened her.

"There are options other than giving your own child a lifetime of misery if you can't raise him."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "You should not talk about matters you know nothing about."

Calling for the elevator would have been the smart thing to do, Blair knew it. But the woman had already spewed enough venom to keep her in place. She needed to hear this.

Evelyn smiled at her again. And when she spoke, her voice was as polite as her smile.

"Or maybe I am wrong," she said. "Perhaps you do know how it is when the person who should be your child's father turns out to be not much more than meets the eye. You realize you were just another game. From time to time he'll throw you crumbs and you'll take them because you're still a fool."

Her laugh was a wicked tritone and not a perfect octave this time.

"And the person who is your child's father promises he'll forget about the past but he can never do that." She tilted her head a little and remained quiet for a moment, as though reminiscing. "And you loathe him more and more every day because he's so pathetic, so weak that he never stops loving you. You hate everything about him. And then you see that your child, who should have been another man's child, is growing up to be just like him. The way the boy looks at you, always so needy, always so–"

"He's your son!" Blair snapped out of her trance-like state. This... woman had already been making her re-evaluate her mother's parenting skills. But right now she was making her downright nauseous. "Children need their mothers."

Evelyn just shook her head lightly as scorn twisted her lips.

"After all, how else would he grow up? He's a Bass. They're weak, all of them; little boys incapable of dealing with their emotions. All they will do is make your life a living hell."

"You could have left."

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"I would have lost him for good."

Blair sneered before she could stop herself. "It seems you weren't much of a mother to him anyway."

"As long as I am with Bart, he'll want me because he hates him."

Blair could feel color draining from her face. Self-absorbed mothers were the Upper East Side's specialty, but Evelyn Bass was truly something else.

"Jack Bass?" she asked, recalling the Basses' conversation in the library. Not that it mattered.

And not that Evelyn answered.

"I think it would be best if you left now." She pressed the elevator button for Blair.

"I am leaving, Mrs. Bass, but before I leave, I want to make something clear." Blair squared her shoulders. "I am nothing like you. I will love my children, regardless of my feelings for their father."

She ignored the telltale sound of the elevator's arrival.

"I love your son. In spite of your best efforts, he's a good person. It's your loss that you don't know him at all. He is his own person and not whatever your conception of a Bass man is. And I love him."

"Charming little speech, darling," Evelyn threw in idly as she entered the elevator and the doors closed between them.

When Blair stepped out of the elevator and into her own home an hour later, she was still trembling. As she'd walked the whole forty-odd blocks from the Palace – probably the most she had ever walked outside Bergdorf's – she tried not to think about that horrible triangle of codependency that Chuck had been in the middle of for seventeen years. _What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. _She'd even tried saying it out loud. She'd had too many meetings with Dr. Sherman to fully believe in that adage, though. And "incapable of dealing with their emotions" resonated through all her thoughts. The witch had struck a chord.

She trudged upstairs to her room, unusually thankful for Dorota's afternoon off. She would draw herself a nice hot bubble bath and forget all about today (except maybe the way Chuck had kissed her), at least for a while. Therefore, she was less than thrilled to enter her room only to find Serena sprawled across her bed.

"Hey," the blonde flipped a magazine closed, "you called me a couple of times but then you didn't answer my messages. Is everything okay?"

Blair sighed. Great. She had forgotten all about Jenny Humphrey.

"No, Serena, everything is not okay." She dropped her bag to the foot of her bed with a little more force than necessary and Serena sat up, her eyebrows knitting together.

Instead of being wise and waiting for Blair to tell her more, she – not quite unexpectedly – put her

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foot in her mouth. "Was the test–"

"Yes, let us talk about those tests, Serena!"

The blonde paled even more.

"Did you or did you not," Blair continued without mercy, "mention them to your outer-borough boyfriend?"

Serena's mouth went from an _o _to a flat line.

"I... maybe... I..." she stalled, taking a sudden interest in the carpet.

"Serena?"

The other girl finally looked up then. "I'm sorry, B. He called me while I was in Duane Reade, and when I went to see him later one thing led to another and..."

The pleading look in her eyes didn't move Blair a bit. Especially after she started talking again.

"But he would never tell anyone, B... I–"

"How do you presume I know he knows, then, genius?"

Serena recoiled, though Blair wasn't sure whether she was to thank her words or the sheer volume of her voice for that.

"Let me help you! He has told his social-climbing sister, who is now blackmailing me!"

"Jenny Humphrey from Brooklyn is blackmailing me, Serena! Thanks to you!" she added for clarification when Serena focused on playing with a pillow instead of defending herself and destroying the little Brooklyn bug.

"I'm so sorry, Blair." The blonde ceased chewing on her lip to say something at last. "But I don't understand? It's her word against yours, and we both know who everyone is going to believe."

Blair was not a full inch from throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "You think she doesn't know that? She's got something more. With my luck, she probably has you on tape or something." She wanted to slap herself for not listening to Jenny's babbling earlier. In all fairness, though, she'd had an even bigger problem then.

"I'll get rid of it whatever it is," Serena volunteered from her spot on the bed after Blair had paced the room twice, trying to decide whether to call Chuck or not.

Blair snorted. "So that Jenny Humphrey can publish _Blair's Biggest Secrets_?" "Blair-"  
"Oh, silly me for not trusting you after what you pulled."

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If she was hurt by the sarcasm dripping from her voice, Serena didn't show it. "Blair," she tried again. "I'm sorry, S, but this one is for experts."  
"But how many of your experts have free access to the Humphrey loft?" Serena insisted.  
Blair pondered on that for a while.

"I'll give you twenty-four hours." After all, Serena _could _carry out a somewhat decent scheme if she really put her heart into it. "I'll take over after that."

"It won't be necessary." Serena smiled her most wicked grin. "This is very personal on more than one level for me."

"Go, then! The clock is ticking!" Blair tried her best slave-driver voice. She really needed to be alone a little. She had come undone before Chuck and in more than one way (_God, she still couldn't believe she had let herself actually _cry_!_) , she had lectured his crazy mother and she had now been reminded of the overthrow waiting to happen! How much can a girl endure before some time on her own is desperately needed?

Fortunately, it seemed her best friend was able to read her signals. Serena stood up. Before she promptly got down on her hands and knees on Blair's bedspread and began ruining the perfect alignment of the pillows Dorota had created. Blair could only sigh.

This lasted for a good minute, until Serena let out a little squeal of victory upon fishing her phone and her keys out of the pillow mountain.

"Civilized people carry purses," Blair noted helpfully. "You know, those little things you have at least two shelves for in your closet?"

Serena just threw back her mane. "I'm sorry. I kind of ran to here after I left you the fifth voice mail."

Blair's lips spread into a smile on their own accord. She hugged her best friend in the entire universe. "Thank you, S."

"You're my best friend." Serena squeezed her back for a moment. Then she declared, "And now is time for Stage One of my brilliant plan."

"No," she put her hand up to stop Blair from speaking up, "you don't want to and can't know." "Fine." Blair bit back her skepticism.

Serena shrugged into her black Tocca coat (and Blair frowned for a split second as she remembered how matronly it made herself look; good call on sitting that one out). "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

But instead of saying goodbye and leaving, she just continued to stand there, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet, making Blair kind of sea-sick.

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"B," she said, a bit too cautiously. "Yes?" Blair used the same tone.

"Have you perhaps taken a test? Because I really think you should. Or go see Dr. Johnson. I know you told me everything's all right, but I'm kind of worried." All in one breath.

Although Serena had been right to be cautious – mentioning those stupid tests again was a surefire way to ruin her mood – Blair couldn't snap at her when she talked like that, like when she'd accidentally broken her favorite headband in kindergarten.

"I took one this afternoon. It was negative."

Serena sighed a momentous sigh of relief. Next second, though, her brow furrowed. "This afternoon? But I was here the whole afternoon."

Blair rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. "Very perceptive of you, S," she chirped as she weighed her options for a second. "I took it at Chuck's."

What the hell, she would tell her eventually anyway.  
Serena's eyes did that funny bugging thing again. "You told him?"

The incredulity in her voice didn't bother Blair – it was well-deserved, both because of who she was and who Chuck was.

"I'm glad you did."

Blair rolled her eyes again. "Not much future as an actress, S." Honestly, not even Dorota had been that unconvincing when she told her it was the dry cleaner's that lost her Dolce & Gabbana.

Serena picked her dry ends. "No, I'm glad. I'm just..."

"Surprised?"

The blonde nodded.

"I know," Blair conceded. "But he was... pretty great actually." She didn't bother hiding her gigantic grin.

Serena smiled back. "Good. With the Jenny thing, I wouldn't have enough time to kill him tonight." "True," Blair twittered. "So, on your merry way, S!"  
Serena wasn't fazed by this sort-of dismissal.

"You'll have to tell me everything tomorrow, B," she said matter-of-factly as she disappeared into the corridor.

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"Sure," Blair sing-sang, "if pigs fly tomorrow."

Serena's head appeared in the room again. (It _was _kind of scary how her black turtleneck blended with the background.) "No, but seriously, none of that," she deepened her voice, "'How do I even know it's mine?' Chuck-Bassian crap?"

The impression of Chuck was actually pretty good, the drawl and all, but Blair scowled, horrified. She chucked the first pillow she could grab at Serena's talking head. "No!"

The head didn't reappear, but the voice did. "God, I wish you two would get together for real already!" "You don't say?" Blair muttered as she listened to her friend running down the stairs.  
But that wouldn't happen. At least not until Chuck became capable of "dealing with his emotions." "Ugh!" she growled, stripping down to her underwear.

She loved him. He loved her. Why couldn't that be enough for a happy ending?

"Because of the way he is; he's a Bass," an eerily familiar little voice whispered in her head while she turned the hot water on and listened to it thunder as it filled the tub.

"Nonsense!" she said – or, more like growled again – out loud. The woman clearly was insane. Besides, what teenage boy she knew was able to "deal with his _emotions_"? That was what made them teenage boys... Well, that, Maxim, Wii and pot/alcohol. He loved her and that was all that mattered. He just needed a little time. Hell, she needed a little time after that scare.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured, reaching for her Ambre et Vanille E. Coudray. "If today's anything to go buy, he really does love me... _so _much."

The warmth that spread all through her at the thought turned her to mush, including her fingers. The bubble-bath jar slipped from her fingers and to the floor. It landed right next to the trash can. Blair bent down to pick it up, wrinkling her nose when she registered the amount of trash. Dorota was getting careless, she would have to...

"Ew, Serena!" she screeched as an end of _a _stick caught her eye.

Now, that was too much, even if she was her best friend! Taking a pregnancy test in her bathroom... She shook her head. But she still had to angle her face carefully, wrinkling her nose again when she realized just how close to the trash can she was, and read the result, just in case. _Not pregnant. _

She let out a sigh. Good. As disgusting as the thought of S _touching _the Brooklyn boy was – _ugh; brain bleach needed! _– at least the world wouldn't be burdened with another Humphrey any time soon. But really... did she have to take the test in _her _bathroom, for Dorota to find it, when she was on the pill since she was fifteen? Blair draped a facial tissue over the trash. Oh well... it was nice to see that S was being conscientious and fully responsible in at least one aspect of her life, she mused.

Then she jumped up, failing to notice how narrowly she missed the edge of the sink. The bathtub was

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about two drops from overflowing. Fuck.


End file.
